The Invisible Planet
Hope is the dead
come to life. If it is not,
then there is no dark
to support the light.
Cumulus & Cirrus
The Give & Take
Nothing is emptiness when everything is something of the sun, which would be nothing without emptiness that is everything in the absence of one.
Honeymoon
The Most Sensual Touch
Begotten & therefore beautiful, our lives are a preponderance of exigency & invention beset with remembrance of spent energy. Procreation has but three kinds: coital, fatal & original. Every flower & every flower's companion & every other passing novation, are the gravity of these.
The Rest is The Sea
Mortality allows wandering to be conserved by wisdom—if long life acquires it.
Those of mature enthusiasm that natural charm brings to a knee are enamored by what is egged. Thoughtful wombs that bring forth bodies that move with limbs like arms & legs, such animals, this long life reasons, are evidence of a thinking thing. But so is a tree of solum, the leaves of pig thistle, the ambitious sun & its conjuring dirt that returns life to the dead. So is the bacterium compelled by flagellum through the clear spittle of the wandering beetle; so the bacterium compelled by flagellum through the gut of a wandering animal with camera in hand. The hand itself, a thinking thing. Indeed, should we stray further into the intimacies... 
where genitalia issue a sticky flux, be it earth wet with organic carbon from the seeding of engorged comets, to an eroded belly of soil penetrated by a stream, or ooze of tree water that seeks the flower amorous the fly, or great abstractions like the river of time & the uterine emptiness, or great abstractions like death & charity
Intimately Entangled
Life complicates life & makes big tribes like us somehow belligerent the natives of small life. Let the grass grow wildly in love & a satyr will appear to reveal the strife. 
The complex of Poaceae we need to thrive is without vexation & mostly the dream of our sleeping ancestors. In such a dream those dead are alive & those alive are asleep & those asleep will awake as a fierce issue of dream every seed remembers.
California Ringlet
Walking With Heraclitus
Immortals are mortal, mortals immortal, living the other’s death, dead in the others’ life.
Emptiness is what befalls the Everlasting as the everlasting “absence” itself by coming alive. It is the perpetuation of mortal longing, the flourishing dead, the emptiness our absence needs to thrive--- the vitality & appetite in what my companion means by “the others’ life”. Emptiness is the coming to life of the everlasting because “the others’ death” is the reason we are alive.
Gods die so larvae might live because gods come to life so a fly may die.
It cannot be otherwise, there must be gods because there are eggs that penetrate—their instars eat who we are into emptiness.
Life is everlasting because maggots make us immortal.
Planets Would Vanish
If there is to be no Love & the world not do as it wills?
Mortality would lose sway & all its infinite pleasures drain away. Each egg of desire would desiccate in the wild. Every starry rudiment, wanton void, resultant spore dry up, waste into dust, just as every truth born of failure snap, twist & tear away in the wind; the ideal wind, the wind that is a perfect, a divine, an ultimate wind; a monotonous, motionless, platonic, pristine equilibrium. A cold mix of aseity that is not truly a wind, but an icy entireness—no more the vague & windy adventure, this emptiness we are at home with, whose brooding dark perpetuations buoy an island universe, but now must cease all going away. To go away the rigors of adventure. No more vague philosophies penetrating ardent contradiction. No more of the unsettled "beyond" exploited by sex & the dead--- legacies that must precipitate & every thought of a thing submit & cement into a naked Oneness.
Who would know how to know? How, with the prohibition of such as time & gravity, or death & copulation, could we learn? The satisfaction of stars that breed error in our soils could not go the way of decay. The satisfaction of a single butterfly, restrained no longer by ruin might become the everlasting, a disorder of eternity entirely bound as nothing of variety, nothing of this varying universe & nothing of the various Gods adorned with Love could ever become, never gather & forever go away.
Walking With St. Augustine
Dilige et quod vis fac. ( If you love, you may do as you will.) The world does & if this were not the way it "hangs together", not the way we disperse & why we gather, than the liberty Love gains for us, our great proclivity to create & decay, might offend community, corrupt another constitution, pollute some other plurality governed by some other principle of association. But Love does not. It gives injury to no one. Love is what an atom does in its uncertainty, what clever elements do with the electric, what dim particulars as pregnant molecules do in speculation, or in memory, or in reason. Energy itself is a matter so endeavored. It is what a tree does when it grows; what water does when land empties a river; what the dead do in soil; what every aim does in the embryo of pleasure. It is why a planet does no evil. It is why there is no end to novelty as there is no end to mortality. Why gods are ambitious of earthworms. Let us imagine Augustine had in mind the people of debris (some call them garbage, others the fallen)—they are all willful, love their way as well as any bishop.
Let Us Gather Together: Part 5
It abounds, whatever it is that animates a dog as it dies, animates a dragon fly that waits for sunlight to quicken blood into flight. Whatever it is that animates the high regard for feculence in the mind of a common house fly, animates the electric fidelity of a dead star's dust & chaos . Whatever animates the tree that fattens the October fig, endows a hand that reaches out to a mind infested. Whatever it is that makes vivid the anonymity of atoms, animates Quercus fecundus & its munificent seedlings. Whatever gives life to companions, it abounds & makes fecund the grave where one remains alive, the other a planet reconsiders.
Love is God made mortal so divinity may abound. The Gathered & the Dispersed (that is you, me, a dog, a dragon fly, the river & trees, all these moribund stars) empty into finiteness so the immortal may become animate & the infinite, enliven.
