Do Not Look For The Period It Is Not Found Here Poem by RIC BASTASA

she tells me again she agrees that everything here is
unintentional pure imaginings of the mind when the snow is so thick
and going outside is painful to the skin no matter how you rub your fingers
and hands against your tummy,
this happens usually in the morning, flickers at dawn, and does not subside
keeps on dictating, hushing, whispering words that the right brain fails to
understand, the left does, and takes note of every letter, like sketches of
a face that you have for once never seen anyway,
until the bacon gets crisp, and the white jasmine rice is ready
on the wooden table, one begins to share and ponder,
hot coffee, and loneliness
anxieties that do not know is already inside your room
last night

do not look for understanding
the purpose precisely is that this is a very confidential matter
ciphers of existence that only the self can tell
perhaps before the timely rowing to the path of God

do not look for the period it is not found here