Overlapping Circles Poem by Thomas Hooker

There are many states of consciousness,
perception hides between the cracks in
the sidewalk, where the weeds make

the most of their chance, taking advantage
of the life they've been given, spilling over,
still wet from the morning rain.

Uncertain of its time, the vanishing snow returns
in overlapping circles, between seasons, surrounded
by the turning sounds, the sun warms the cool air,

freshened by the sweet melodies of the nuthatch and wren,
hidden by the hollies; where the wild blue violets creep
toward the iris beds, rising beneath crumbling cobblestone.

The tides roll and escape, persuaded by the moon,
overlapping circles keep time with stars, the galleries
of cosmic light, where the mirrors shine in radiant form,

transfixed on the morning dew, returning bloom to seeds,
at the edge, opposites attract by the sea of love,
immortal in its age as spring beginnings start a new.