There are so many wonders,
In becoming an Idiot for Love.
Not least among them,
That everything is Ever New.
There is no “getting used to” this…
This Bliss without opposite,
This unlocatability,
This sublimity.
The River is ever moving,
He who sat unmoving on the bank,
Has fallen in, swept away.
Now everything Flows, Ever New.
Flowing, from time…
Into Ocean before time,
Where old and new,
Have never existed!
