Things are just as they are
The many paper doll covers drop away
That which Plays does not leave, however
Only the kind of playing that was borne
Of striving, play acting, a wish to stand out
Somehow different, as if what we truly Are lacks.
No more pretending called for, although pretense
Arrives from time to time, leaving its calling card as
Residue, the way sour milk leaves its trace on the glass
The I can momentarily forget that it is Luminous, Empty,
That which Knows –and if it wears anything, it is stitched
Together entirely of Love and glows simply as Experiencing.
San Cristobal, NM
16 February 2015