[Len6789]

Variables Have Become a Constant
by Len Bourret (Copyright 2005)

Dedicated to Brian Teare.


And joy to pain as water to the leaf
upon waking, interpreting a dream's

fragrance of combinations pink and
blue, to degrees of purplish lavender.
A kind of spring.

As if what is conscious is submersed,
and all my senses become absurd. A

cacaphony of sounds, a myriad of
viisions, a plethera of tastes, buried

sea of hidden feelings, waves of salty
smells, sweeping, sweeping over me.

Thoughts construing, a higher power
guiding, protecting, and renewing. A
soft and gentle hand, massaging and
caressing.

Eyes closed, but filled with technicolor
dreams, artistic and creative, no blacks
and whites. Deep colors are a constant.

Sands echo through an hourglass of time
spent searching for windswept dreams
seen washed away. Visions simultaneity
of day and night, non-recurring dreams
are one, and recurring dreams the same.

Empire of light in a semi-darkened day,
darkness in a semi-lightened night, no
middle of the road, no in-between, no
longer any variance in shades of color.

No more variables of pink and blue, my
lavender's deep-purple life have become
an infinity's forever constant.

What is the significance of the purple, and
the lavender? I cannot give an explanation.

As joy is to water and the leaf, hedonism
has turned its face to confrontation. I can
no longer seek pleasure to avoid my pain.
And my face no longer turns away.

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