The one possibility is infinite worlds
Forever intersecting into some one world.
Without beginning, I now always never start
To take in what it takes to fill a little world.
Seeing this hand grow old I know the unending
Lace of becoming merely one thing in the world.
Mock me and take heart in the limitless relief
Of hearing your echoing through a thousand worlds.
Nothing is inert. Perceval seeing blood drops
In the snow knows the open presencing of world.
Lay down the burden of having yourself and rest
Forever in the instant work of making world.
Nicola’s ambition is a small unknowing
Swallowing this, that, and every other world.