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Alive in all the sounds
that embody the sparklings of light,
the vibrations of the frequency of life-
the static that we learn to read.
Simple beauty that we knew at birth,
now forgotten, glossed and blurred.
However brief and momentary life,
it is brilliant.
If not to the eyes
than the things we dare imagine,
the things that we pretend to fathom
that trace an echo of a true image
even greater than we know.
Though clouds may block the shine
of a rising morning sun
a yawning sky does not detain it
and what is there remains-
in awe or ignorance.
Before birth, beyond the clouds,
underneath perception,
above our understanding,
and besides all feelings otherwise
is the movement of Perfection,
obscured by hubris
and the distance of a lost connection.