Two webs intersecting
a connecting of intensities
which we can no longer deny:
The sharp joy, the quiet fire of accomplishment,
the slow anguish of pains and loves
which must be known, and named
in order for the spark to leap across the arc,
committing itself to the circuit of generations.
New interfaces replace old distances
with new feelings, which jostle old thoughts;
with new thoughts, which discover old feelings;
with thoughts and feelings which we had put aside
and thought we had forgotten;
with feelings and thoughts
which we thought
were happening to someone else,
not us, not here, now now.
But itís really happening:
Here is real ground, here real breeze we feel;
Here real leaves; here reds, greens, yellows, oranges
blues and purples that we see;
Here real breath we in-out breathe;
Here real us, we (you, me, us) we are becoming,
We are in process here.