Aria of New Time

Secret how these minutes twist;

Diminutive- into the forms of the hour

Their secret intercept-

The minutely cobbled empire of their variations

Politics of their powers and fixations.

The only syntax their sidereal forms would know-

Traveling cut off from one another-

Within the padded cells of it- each rebellious

Growth now ticks its secret - growing within itself

Growing within itself the sidereal gestures

Of a stunted pain or empty pleasure. Fulfillment

Of the forms untethered - each misfit growth betrays

Sliced yang- empty yin, which

With no other from its path of growth

Strayed. Where once was time-

Now only- are the empty museums

The forms of statues, which long

For separation and for space.

In dead empires of glossy jade.

Summer flow now to winter-

And with the change we enter

The cracked logic of December

Knowing that find the escalation

Of hope- in this closing, echoing

Sinuosity- of Snow-metered,

Silence. In this the space of

Fixation and echoing.

This lonely time.

I reach my mind back to

The rivers of the Summer

Echoing and Flowing.

Its waves lightly billowing.

The play of light upon it

Becoming the Palladian crystal

Of harmonies. They have secrets.

A single whorl of it.

Becomes a point of fascination

It draws in the sleek, sinuous, silver

World of the river. And now all day

Twists to this point. Let it be drawn

Let it yawn lazily.

Then find in it the

Focus- the Eschaton beyond time

On which it’s shallow light play

Can echo on- on which it does

Not need to become depth.

Yes I remember the secret.

Crystalline echo play of it.

Gleam upon gleam these

Torqued- to a single Quartz

Resonating still

In my soul.

Containing the many - -

Moments.

What wanders through

The crystal of the snow?

Is it the same?

And knowing this secret-

And living beneath the

Purple dawn- dawn of

Mausoleum, dawn of

New birth

I reached my arm deep within

The snow. And reached the

Spirit deep within the arm.

And unburied the embers of

Heat from within the cold-

Which now burned the arm

Setting into- a numb and

Tingling flow. This was the

Left arm, and the

right side of my

Brain. Winter and summer

Resonate.

And attempting to reconnect

Within arboreal tendrils of the dusk

Behind a mountain range

In it’s shadow world, a different

Figure repeats the same-

Motion this time the

Right arm feeling for

The left brain. Purple

Dawn- sinistral

Now peaks- tendrils

Of the fulcrum

Of the balancing-

Cold and heat. And

Estrangement

Of the distance is

Melts- Split mind,

No split self.