Litany

You are the harbor and the oar,
the light house and the compass.
You are the aurora in the South Pole
and the big tree beside the lake.
You are the sophisticated farmer of the arable land
and the apple on Newton's head.


However, you are not the defoliation around the bench,
the orbit in the galaxy,
or the chimney of the house.
And you are certainly not the green tea in the coffee cup.
There is just no way you are the green tea in the coffee cup.


It is possible that you are the sea gull above the ocean,
Maybe even the first quarter of the moon hanging in the dark sky,
but you are not even close
to being the lotus emerging out of the mud.


And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither fiction on the bookshelf
nor the fountain on the avenue.


It might interest you to know,
Speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the boat in the wind.


I also happen to be the lost fish in the ocean,
the piece of leaf floating on the lake,
and the wooden cabin hiding in the rain forest.


I  am also the water in the ocean
and the sand in the desert.
But don't worry, I am not the harbor and the oar.
You are still the harbor and the oar.
You will always be the harbor and the oar,
not to mention the light house and -somehow- the compass.