Saturday, March 12, 2022

lovesong from the past


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