Send My Roots Water

Through the groove of habit, not virtue,
The knees are brought to the kneeling board.
That which brought was what the heart sought,
    The Uncreated Light.
The prickly kneeling and desire seeking,
Longs for ...
Longs for ...
But is brought to tears for
The darkness before the Uncreated Light.

The Testimony of Sense

From my window the street runs by.
Very real.
The budding trees whisper
Not really real.
And then there's the bottom line.
Really real.
Love, sickness, sorrow, joy
So real, so real.
At least I imagine it is all really so.

Copyright 1999 by John Faragher

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