Orchid on the Grave of Pasternak

I’m set to

wondering how I 

might stay 

accepting.

Allowing some space

for the unseen possible;

opening a door 

for the mysterious unknown.

A bit of extra room for 

what a person may be like - 

underneath - silently.

Like leaving an orchid

on the grave of Pasternak;

a sign-post of the phenomenon 

of the unseen unknown self.  

Just a hairs-breadth away from

what we see, and hear, taste,

touch and smell as real; 

and yet, it has more of a

foothold on what is real 

than our senses can fabricate,

organize, and select.