labyrinth 2
for k.m.
I find myself here
again and again
here being always slightly changed
and yet the same
as if I am looping back on myself
only to find
myself, within
neither from nor towards
a circle of stones
every moment is irredeemable
Eliot said
the still point of the turning world
and yet
walking barefoot in a circle that is endless
and yet ends
I can only say: there we have been
But I cannot say where
and suddenly I understand
why numbers
are the only language
capable of deciphering Fibonacci’s poetry
but explanations are not what we are seeking
we
want. to. know. why.
why
we spiral around one another like galaxies
(every circumnavigation placing us
yet another magnitude of space apart)
and still alone
like stones
still
beneath the snow
waiting
for the walker to come
and wake us from our slumbering
