Books
Poetry/Lyrics
Essays
Love
Free, with the song of angel voices,
in blue sky fresh,
and crystal waterclouds,
of sun-rays' love.
Free in love, that yellow-light chemical bliss,
of transparent restfulness,
this magical pure flow.
Freedom cannot be,
for it lives only in imagination,
but infinite communication is possible, one imagines...
except for the limits of infinity, time and space,
although some information is lost, always.
Some information is lost, in replication.
Some information can be lost, and never regained,
the inevitability of death,
of even atomic nuclei.
More love is always given than received,
and some is lost by loving that which is dead,
which amounts to lost energy.
We can give what we have to all things,
and we can receive up to our capacity from all things,
but some information is damaged or corrupted or lost,
and this trickle leads to a decline in capacity,
and the ability to communicate accurately.
Some information is lost, in replication.
Some information can be lost, and never regained,
the inevitability of death,
of even atomic nuclei.
A black sand particle in the hour-glass,
treading water.
A heaven glimpsed in a wild flower,
the dye in the petals shivering.
A teardrop falls.
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