I don't know what I want
I don't know what I need
I don't know right or wrong
I would forget my plans
forsake my home
cast off my clothing
dissolve my name ...
The Beloved herself
is incidental—
neither Heaven nor the Way,
just a white rabbit passing by, living
her life, luring you
into freefall. Maybe she becomes
your lover, maybe your dearest friend,
maybe not, maybe ...
A homeless man wrapped in a greasy coat
and an otherworldly calm approached me
as I rushed home from work
down the sidewalk.
"Greetings," he said. "I am you
from the future. ...
Do nothing
having done everything.
Maybe I was wrong
twice—
love is neither finding someone
to fit an ideal,
nor welcoming someone
as she is—