eclogue..

Whatever you think of me
Is not what I am

What I know of myself
Is not what I am

I am
an outsider settled in me
in a formless form.
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What is that where
death comes from and life goes to

is it beyond all the sources of light
or somewhere
beside the blue path of the sky

may be
it is nowhere
or it is always here
by my wayside
ready to separate me from me.
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Through
That blue stitch of infinity

the abstract is
revealed to human

the way it looks
is not always the way
it looks.
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