Where logic ends the unknowable path begins as fragile as a harp string as robust as Lyssa’s anger The unknown path is paradoxical both and neither as steady as a pine root's coiling force as shifty as the buoyant gesture of your hair in the wind We are not mad! We know it by the somnolence of a fish in the sea by the intuition of unspoiled dogs by the illogical dance of a paradise bird My dear bird! When your foot slip from the dancing trees' pinnacles, people call you mad-bird don’t you worry If dance is madness then all the dancing plants must have gone mad long before people existed. Your crazy dance is innocuous Your spins send breeze to our sad evenings In the whisper of summer-tree leaves, we see the similar dance In the oscillating thunder voice we see the dance of Gods If dance was madness how could the garden flowers save their seeds? How could you make it to the depth of hearts? This path is neither certain nor uncertain Simply wise and beautiful a voice from beyond emanating through your motions a dance from the unknown visible in your frame This path is both logical and illogical It melds and blends both into one If not, why would all streams end up into one? where thoughts come to an end muse begins to sing Where measurable forms fall unfathomable and infinite rise in your dance |