In the land of false flowers, there is a mirror.
Stop gaping there.
Turns your eyes in,
where Gaze has heat running under the skin,
and marbles of pulses roll
along the canals between the eyeballs and toes.
Sensation is the first way of Knowing who we are.
This Dance is not what you think.
This Dance is what you don’t think.
We are incarnated, blood everywhere,
in and out.
Don’t turn from these flowers,
On Earth, hearts forever pray such blooms,
gratitude for what’s Real.