Untitled

discovery of a deeper awareness of my death and the healing Spirit

The hole in my defenses opened
When? (It matters not.)
It's grown to some proportions now,
And in my guts
A chill has found itself a place.
My questioning, no longer felt,
Is only out of reticence:
The way is clear
And unopposed by anything substantial--
And substance is diminished.
The movement clarifies itself
  Without my help.
The way says nothing to me,
  As there's nothing to be said.
I walk into a shadow,
  But I don' emerge;
        I'm dead.
                                          10/76,  Cornwall