Ode To The Senses
February 16, 2013 (J)
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20130216               Joie de Vivre               Senses

Ode to the Senses
     my glorious, glorious sight
     extends my world hundreds of steps.
     That's usually as far as I can see
          before distinctions blur
          to background homogeneity,
          though I have seen miles from a mountain top.
     Forward sensing, always forward.
     To see behind, I must make behind in front.
     Always looking, ahead, forward;
          In the direction of natural movement;
     I know the appearance of wherefore I will step;
          accordingly, I step eagerly or gingerly.

     ahh, yes, lovely, lovely, lovely hearing;
     you bring me those comforting sounds
     and not sounds.
     I can bid my eyes not see,
          I cannot bid my ears not hear.
     Lovely hearing, you let music open my soul.
     You know no direction,
          though your range is almost the same
          as sight in forest or field.
     You alert me to turn and "face" things I hear "behind".
     Your magic even makes the trees disappear
          as you envelope me
          in protective sound.
     You fade for me now, old friend,
          though your melodies yet ring clear
          in my memories.

     subtle smell,
     always there,
     rarely noticed,
     hints on the wind,
     but not,
     for it is touch that tells of the wind.

     most intimate touch;
     It knows no direction,
     only HERE,
     the final warning,
     the most sacred pleasures.

     perhaps even more intimate
     because it is only within.
     Touch has let it pass.
     Touch is the boundary
     between "me" and "space".
     Taste has nothing to do with space.

     it seems is a disk
          centered around me,
          perhaps more a cabachon.
     It comes from my senses;
          it's what I can sense
          outside me.