What Returns

If I have a pen
And paper—
But nothing
I need to write

No words or shapes
To draw—

What would I do
With paper
And pen
Do I really have it

If I have a life
And death
But nothing
I must do
Be, or have
From either

Do I have it—
Really

If both life and death
Are one thing—
And that is
What I am

What can I gain
From life
What can I lose
In death

Having known this
I have discarded both
Refused death
And life—
No longer
A surprise for me

For what returns
After dancing for centuries
At the edge
Of the blazing centre
Inching closer—

Being consumed by it —
What returns
To tell the tale
Of consumption—
Annihilation

Only thought
Thought alone
Is immortal
Not the blaze
Nor the one consumed

Blaze was never born
The self was never real
Form alone
Thought alone
Remains

The surprise
Of the ground is
That
It is concrete

The surprise of death
Is the realisation
Of eternity