I am from an ocean beyond your eyes,
_ that is why your eyes are beckoning me, fathomlessly. _
You are the bay of commemoration
to the shores of my forebears, and forgotten memories.
You are a garden, on the curve of each blossom.
You are smudged flower-houses
on the wing of butterflies.
You are a bow to the arrows of my aspirations,
twin rainbows to the end of my rains kites,
a light house in the shoreless journeys
that keep reminding me:
there are always hopes out there and beyond,
like light at the end of tunnels,
there are somewhere always you must go,
further than the circumscription of distances,
the finitude of the spatial and temporal broadenings,
yet always within you as much as facing you.
You must find your other half, your placenta,
_the destinations that attune to your journey within,_
to dig in your soul with the spade of:
“ the Always coming, yet never reaching horizons,”
the impossibility
of connecting all the possible dots,
the subconscious inability of: "not connecting the dots,"
to create
by imagining the unimaginable,
fathoming unfathomable,
to become creator,
to create art,
to create your own creator
from your
own image.
