I cannot make it cohere is what the old man said. Try though he did through his art. Willing that bridges be built where none had ever existed.

And looked through his eyes' windows. And saw the blue flash of kingfishers. And the moment benedetto. And before he went back into silence

Answered himself thus: The light sings eternal ... i.e. it coheres all right. Even if my notes do not cohere ... Aye rabbi, through thick and thin, the world

Sticks together right loyally. Just as it did for our dead we bear within us when alive. And for their dead before them, back to amoebae, to baryons

And though it cares nothing for us whether we're in it on not, and though we forget our mothers and fathers, and shall also be forgotten, and though all things change

Into their opposites - the unknown to the known, the remembered to the forgotten - and merge again into silence from which all may re-emerge. Although pain be endless

This seedling on my windowsill turns constantly towards the light. Its green moment is blessed. And weightless the light's true quality. There is order in being.

I wish I could find it forever, this glory the real world inflects. I lose it then find it then lose it. It will not come ever again like this. Ever.