The Cosmos Of Riddles

Blue green riot
beyond the bridge,
weeds and pond under
noon-strained light.
Farther on,
dark-bound trees;
farther still, of course,
ocean, desert,
blocky stone
and blinding ice.

Every vision the sum
of all its varied confusions.
Every confusion a union open
on all sides, itself
a new cluster of visions
and confusions.

Your feeling before
each vision:
consider a nest of eggs
about to hatch.
You don’t know your birds;
these stones contain birds.
Open your eyes
and your heart speeds into
something less beat
and more flutter,
a cymbal’s shimmer
and not a crash.

An understanding of this
isn’t for consumption
through sale, barter,
trade.  This isn’t meant for
the dank music of ease
and packaged wisdom —
not this glimpse
of the blue green riot,
the warring perceptions
telling the whole wrenching story
of this whole wrenching world, no;
you’re going to have to work
for this one.