Swirl and eddy, eddy and swirl.


For whiles that pass, arrow true and swiftly go I along, deft and supple, keen and true.


How, then, looking about, do I find my way is tangled about the briar and becalmed?


And when? 


How in so singing true a flight, bends the path onto itself and even unbeknownst recurs and recurs and recurs … unfading echo?


And all along so true, straight and razor keen, fiercely onward, by leaps and soaring flights to somehow find, at apogee of arching leap


The ankles fettered as by finest silk, so soft as to all but melt from sight


Yet sufficient.


Wings to be but elegant epaulets carved upon the shoulders of a marble bust, vision cloistered to the keep, utterly spent upon solitary pebbles …

One    by     one.


Captured by each to gaze and gaze and, dawning, realize oneself again at pitch and singing speed, free and soaring upon the open sky, dimension upon dimension there, teased, even springing from the tangle so recently about.


From each the other, always birth given unknown and seen only when past.


One the fertile rooting for the others’ springing forth to be the fertile rooting … and the farmer never knows the seed!


Swirl and eddy, eddy and swirl …

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