The curtain has closed, virtually impossible to part
Between the form and the formless, one’s like the cloud
The other the sky, intimately related like canvas and ink
Form expresses beauty that the formless is
Before our form came into being, were we the formless?
We’re headed back, but to where? That secret will never be shared
By the formless, lest we stop enjoying the form, craving the other
The revealed must be cherished while searching for the hidden
They may end up being part of the same, like the front and back
Of one’s hand, both cannot be seen, at the same time
The form has hands which can help, more useful
Than seeking, from an invisible hand of the formless
