Moon at Half Past Noon

Is consciousness the sky, the sea?
Or but a flame that burns in me?
It hums in stars, it breathes in clay,
A silent song that shapes the day.
Does sentience lift my life above?
Or is all being wrought with love?
The sparrow soars, the stone abides,
No rank divides where life resides.
The tree, the bird, the river’s bend,
Each weaves a thread that knows no end.
I mold the earth with thought’s design,
Yet tides and winds carve lines divine.
No hand alone remakes the whole—
The cosmos spins, no need for soul.
Its loom is vast, its patterns free,
I am its art, and it is me.