|
|
|
This
solid flesh
a circling smoke |
|
in
winds of
bellying Time |
|
haunts
crevices
of Space and seems |
|
anchored
here
or there : |
|
Men
have thought
the prospect strange |
|
demonic
scaring
as they woke |
|
from
a ravishing
crystalline dream |
|
of
abstract
Eternities |
|
to
touch the
edge of Change |
|
where
all Numbers
twist and break : |
|
|
|
yet
Pattern
lurks in the vanishing lair |
|
of
ragged particles.
Alchemists |
|
first
kept the
double vision and reckoned |
|
as
aspects of
a single Stream |
|
the
Vortices
of spinning mist |
|
and
the Structure
of the unseizable second |
|
when
Life leaps
upwards through the range |
|
of
fiery unstable
Symmetries, |
|
intricate
dangerous
Time. |