The Real Work

It passes my eyes and stuns my senses

The outside world flows through these fences

They let out more than they take in

They bleed me out and I can't staunch them

My mouth lets out more than it takes in

It leads me out and I can't help it

It is nothing but a muscle flexed

A swirling sea of now and next

And the world was upside down, inside out this whole time

Going the wrong way north was inverted

The directions, the plan, got me turned around

I was on the right path, but couldn't feel the ground

And so started the test, retracing all the steps

When was the first strike, which dances were learned

In an ever-changing suit retailored with patches

Or a life blind and careless, popping stitches

Un-being, un-happening, becoming untangled

Dulling the edges and scaling transitions

And faith is a pattern composed by the wind

All movement, one movement, it reaches everything

And the real work is to be it it, believe it

With each new set of eyes and the visions they provide

Be the taste, the warmth, the measure and the glow

By embracing it all, and then letting it all go

The real work is never done, and has no clear beginning

And shows no result, no losing, no winning