Light, Refracted through this matrix of fractured stops of clocks – That brazen rumination of spent hours – Years in hock to antecedence – It tills in distinct measures – A tilt from North to South and again, again in centripetal spin – It is that harvested intensity spilled out also into the wholeness of silence.
And in its breach it cleaves life and death apart, So that its differing attentions fill a gap in parenthesis.
And these waves of light through time trigger mind in the heart, And rooted, there abide the twin apotheoses: The requiem and hymn – shivers in the meristem –
And sliced, its moon-shaped leaves cling to the dome – An issuance of thorns and spines, tendrils, And starlight gripping greens.
It is thus that form is integral to ash, And just like its prerequisite states; Such form yields a cellular tabernacle of growing pains, One of halted spears, diverted from a pinioning of wood.