A Mosaic of Sparks

Kept away from our perfection

by the shell that maintains our selves.

Why break up what is whole,

mutilate what is shining?

Why on earth would you take down the sun

and slice it into shards,

send them out to roam and find themselves,

remember the wholeness that once was?

And by so doing leave the whole world

in darkness, disarray.

Why fool them into believing they are many

when they have always been one?

Why present the enlightened

with a false idol?


But is the sun one as it appears,

or scores of twisting flames –

and either way does it not

give out light that stretches over infinity

and heat that lets emerald-green life bud

endless stretches of nothing away?

Might the sun be really

a mosaic of sparks,

side by side,

believing themselves alone?

Would they recognize what we see,

that blinding ball we’re birthed through?

Or would they see only a face in a crowd,

begging for company

and purpose?