Day and night, no difference.
The sun is the moon: An amalgam.
Their gold and silver melt together.

This is the season when
the dead branch and the green branch
are the same branch.

Nightmares fill with light like a holiday.
Humans and angels speak one language.
The elusive ones finally meet.

Good and evil, dead and alive,
everything blooms
from one natural stem.

You know this already, I’ll stop.
Any direction you turn
it’s one vision.

Rumi