brilliant she will make of you
a chair for old men
a branch of
white light
on a winter’s day
a cup of barley soup
& a long red coat to
hang in a blue hall
where children
of a certain
age will heap
up old bones
& kettles
of gold
© 2006 r Lance W’ms December 26 brilliant she
this fierceness of stars
of things that
burn
that resist
burning
the longing
to pull
to
push
to hold
to let
go
b’end
a
way
l’ean
in
to
another
path
ology
pothos pathos o how we
suffer what befalls us
how we long to unweave
to split the line again & again
to never reach bottom (au fond)
when dropped when shot out like light
half a distance & then half of that
& half again & you never get
there (t’here: ever h’ere
before to wh’ere is
ever here & yet)
the water
moves
& so
rivers stream
like hair like heat like grain
to seed to chaff to wind to tendril
white as strings of lights looping the warp
the fractal nature of breaking
away: muons & gluons & the edge
where every shape reduces to a hole
what befell us
pothos pathos
what falls
suffers
to
emptiness
a fierceness to belong
to that which will
n’ever bottom
out
(au f’ond)
© 2006 r Lance W’ms December 26 how fond the fading what is ever
