Between two panes of polished glass I have imagined
the thinnest of spaces filled with golden sand.
Insects, amber colored, have retreated there,
living through millennia.
Always dream of your desires flying homeward
like golden insects out of their cages.
Hold out such hope: see magnificence in liquid sunlight.
Front to back, turning to each side, mirror-like,
each a contentious self-conversation,
faces flying too.
Now swallow down what you have repeatedly
refused to accept as you.
Core of heart’s desire. Eternity. Heaven.
The Unity of all things.
On your foot, wear the others’ shoe.
On your lips, taste the others’ suffering.