Listen! You Who are Sound and Hearing and Asking!
Hear me plead O Thou Windswept Walls of All This!
Beloved One! I'm calling You! I know You're in there!!

Can this heart be widened enough, deeper-trenched
enough to pool up with all that suffering imagined?
C'mon, c'mon! I'm pond-worthy product writing this.
I'm all duckweed and water-hyacinth, even frog-eggs.
Move inside this 'PING!' to free that frozen moment.

Tethered, millenia weathered to this lodgepole want,
there are no aloe-fires burning, no cordwood hearts
being gathered against the day of this momentous aloneness.

If I could break away from this utter smallness,
I could force Your Smile to tilt upwards at the sound
of thousands of tiny ankle-bells tinkling inside me.
Every single note crystallized into Ramana's clapping.

O You! Your Wonderous flashback as Pain hip dance, c'mon!
Mercy mewlings and compassion-cooings are beating softly.
What bars of twin-stars have kept this heart from freedom!
Moonlandscapes are alighting on each breath drawn saying, "I AM..."
Yogananda and Ramana are the eternal note of a snowdrift sound,
remembering the hearts of truth-lovers long ago come home again,
come Home again, come sit in the Silence: I am the Home again.