Sometime around vespers or matins, still dreaming or about to—
swimming spaceless beyond the stretch where vision is blindness
where photons tumble like Phaethon from his chariot afire
Where time beats that archetypal
echo of rhymed nothingness
pulsing through ALL verse
Except to those returning soul-side
grooving to the hush between the beats—
the authors of such co-labours as these
Vespers, evening prayers. Matins, morning prayers, morning birdsong.
Phaëthon [fey-uh-thuh n, -thon] In Greek Mythology Phaëthon is the son of Helios, the sun deity. Phaëthon borrowed the chariot of the sun and drove it too close to the earth where Zeus killed him with a thunderbolt to save the world.
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
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