The devices all switched off, the sunlight
Through the white blinds was the only show.
How was it change occurred when change
Always subdivided into smaller changes?
From what did anything change that wasn’t
Itself illusion, no more than other changes?
When I looked up the light was different.
Body breathed and struggled to heal. Mind
Circled within the body’s chemistry, waves
Like any waves, shaped by the interactions
Of the properties of the medium they rippled
With the properties of whatever constrained
Them, as patterns in a lake would tell you
Something about water, something about
The cup of stone and earth containing it,
And something about the wind. Likewise,
For mind the properties of synapses, pulses,
Bone, blood, and external events were
Mysteries, visible or invisible, and only
The resultant patterns were easily traced.
Light waves rose and fell from shelves
And carpets, a few carrying information back
Out windows through which they’d entered
To tell the bright December afternoon, yes,
Mind and body hunched in those shadows
Among furnishings and switched-off devices
Thinking hard and circularly about change.
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