The Daydreams of Particles

Foment a Daydream,
if You can,
of the
Mother Matrix,
Made of Lavish Love
and Laminated Light

That Burst into
a Bombast of
Cherished Fractals,
Waves of
Beloved Particles,
Each Adored and
Bathed in That
Laughing Luminosity
that Earmarks
The Divine,

of Which
You are One.

Yet,

In Your Pocket
You Keep a
Leaky Pen
and a
Wrinkled Scorecard,

with Which
You keep Track of
Hits and Runs
and Errors,

Like a Religion,

Forgetting
That It’s All
a Game,

and This Lifetime
but a Season
of Games,

That there Will Be
Other Seasons of
Wins and Losses and
Tears and Trophies.

In Tracking
Your Errors,
Sometimes You
Imagine
You could Lose
The Divinity
That Is
Your Birthright.

Don’t Be
Silly.

(Photo by Kenjiro Koya; UnSplash)