White Biocentrism

When pilot sun is high
I ride part-by-part up-sky,
sea earth marble under celestial eyes;

blended feelings without face
suspended in pore space
soar-heal in place

as unseen Life adheres to mental atmosphere
the physical truth that friend death is no end to fear,
just another critical season of a typical year

and after one motionless blink re-link to flesh and bone,
glass-think of how for a glowing moment I rode roots, heartened stone
and rivered veins of bloody starlight ensouled with cosmic tone--

slivers of infinity split into living pieces
of dying leaf, petal, grain or stem, in timed releases
revived by a divine Mind reaping when sowing ceases.