Cones
Simple in your designs
Infinite in your variations upon them
The leaf's veins, the shell's helix
The stars themselves
Gyring down to a point in the mind
The mind also from that same point
Spiralling outward to take in space
Heartening that in our journeys through time
We come round not to the same place
But recognise it from a distance
It is the dream we remember
That makes us say
We have been here before
In truth
We imagine
are as far from it as one side of the cone from the other, and in between are the false
starts, the failures, the ruins from which we climbed, not to look down, but to feel
your glance resting on us at the next angle of the gyre.
God, it is not your reflections we seek, wonderful as they are in the live fibre.
It is the possibility of your presence at the cone's point towards which we saw, in
hope to arrive at the still centre where love operates on all those frequencies that are
set up by the spinning of two minds.
The one on the other.
The one on the other.
The one on the other.