Breath expands to unconcentrated regions

Creating itself as water creates the pond

What’s contained defines the container

With bounds unidentified

For the pond is superfluous

Overspilling not into dry refuges

But into itself

Where nothing is desert nor fertile

But field for yield

Not seeds unsown

But inborn in potentiality

As pressurized by futurity

Doth the future meet the present

In happening

Not because of marching towards

Nor reversion

Only that what can be might be

Where the unconcentrated regions

As field or hollow

Might be fulfilled while unwilled

Unlike ponderous man

Who has vain desire

To be filled with unconscious things

Lacking in a conscious mind

Unaware that as constituent

And not container

He cannot be filled by the expanse

Which hath already atomized him

In restless perturbations of field

As a sound moves water

Though permanented

For being part of the permanent

As red ink making red

A staining unstainable

Never poured in from strange vessel

But a condensation of primal energy

As water overflows its shore

Only to expand the pond

Where as exclusive vessel

Pours not into another container

But merely widens the only;

Thus, art thou—

A body of rhythm,

Warmed in movement,

And respiring your particulate self,

Renewed until death,

Then, after, renewal,

Returning thy composites to the source,

Which, indwelt, residing eternally there,

Being of closed system incommunicable

But only unto itself,

Though the perturbations behave openly,

As stomach requiring food,

Are they but the system responding to itself,

As single actor of all characters

On one expansive stage, Playing the eternal scene of entropy.