Intimate Truth

Each day I grow nearer to myself
Each day I become more familiar
With my 'I' in utter solitude
I love

I become an unsmelled flower
Each day—

Uncertainty grows wearisome, impossible
In shadow's body all night long
Spellbound in blessed emptiness, hollow
Fixed journeys in new birth
In life's tasting, word's conviction lacks provision—
Like echoes from far away

Truth is subjective—
Windless, infinite

In night's embrace
Dream melting into dream