What if the immune system has a mind of its own?
And the brain is a portal by which the infinite connects?
Where I live, near the border of bias against mystery,
B cells, T cells, and Natural Killers proliferate
like dandelions, and puffs of Darwinian wind scatter seeds
of protection without knowing what they’re doing.
And the mind? The rumor most prevalent now
condemns the self to an illusion, hardwired in the brain.
Where I live, bias against mystery has residual pull.
When I encounter poets, especially mystical ones,
I accompany them, hand in hand, across the meadow,
but stop at the first stand of trees, slip back to basics,
No ideas but in things. But beyond things?
Consider the two horizons – the rosier one,
and the one that ends in a dark line.
