…I, too, longed to visit exotic locales
that I dreamed of when I was a child
even if that was in my imagination’s garden
truly, what’s the difference between
imagining and touching
two faces of the same coin
one to live with the other to die alive
I, too, longed to drink water from the spring
like the summer days of my childhood when
I walked out to see the round buttocks
of the village girl holding a pitcher on her head
I longed to get her into my dream
and never let her come out and
I said,
a loner and a bookworm, I was meant
to be, let each of my days be worthy
of my diving deep into
the philosophical trenches of pneuma and
the logical paths of my spirit onto which
I have always focused my mind since
miracles take place in the openness
