Clouds of gas and seas of dust
whirl in layers round a turbid well
which gathers density and force.
Concealed inside a cyclone spun through darkness,
hidden meaning flares flush against compression
and opens like an eye, wide with burning gaze,
its heavy lids thrown back against the void.
For aeons faint reflections cycle round
this fluid presence held haloed in the night,
concentrating dreams deep into the light,
into a stillness wrapped in fusion storms.
In time the fires dissipate
to vapors, glowing like a distant jewel,
which fades into the emptiness.
Vapors glow amid the gloom,
phantoms waiting to return to life
or fade forever from perception.
Splashed across an easel framed from absence,
a hidden brush portrays rays in random molds,
dispersed as tracts of foam frothed beneath the moon
to bulge about the heart of mystery.
Potential blooms like tufts of baby's breath
with scattered silhouettes wound throughout the fields
where waves of motion spread spectrums far through time
to ripple in the skies of countless worlds.
A hundred billion modes of thought
glimmer like a liquid fused with light,
spiraled round a well of doubt.
Suspended like an ornament,
the master clock wheels slowly through the void,
seconds passed in fluid count.
Cogs and coils gyrate, stretch, and snap,
countless turning gears gripped by gravity,
which sends the broad machine churning through the dark,
momentum bound to arcs across the deep.
Throughout the ages systems come and go,
little flecks of light lit for stellar moments
like after-image flares fading from the mind,
half remembered from a distant past.
In time the random orbits dim
and yellow like a blurry cataract
across the burning eye of god.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Published in Tales of the Talisman in the Winter of 2007.
This is a trisect poem.
Comments about this poem (Lapse by Erin Thomas )
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