Sunday, December 9, 2018

Sunday Poem


Our lives are parallel lines
But not in the mathematical sense,
(The certainty that they will never cross)
Which might be fine.
But it would be our great loss.
I believe in the sanctity of uncertainty
The possibilities beyond sight
When solids melt into a liquidity
That falls over the edges of cliffs
Into warm pools that heal all rifts

The law of parallels mandates unveering rigidity,
Straightness into eternity.
Never to touch.
Never to kiss.
But in the far off darkness, the eyes adjust,
Begin to see where our lines
Start to loosen and twist
Like arborizing vines,
Alive and sinuous and free,
Coiling up the trunks of ancient trees.
All laws break down in time.
Parallels no longer equidistant,
Verge toward tangency, subtle as an optical trick,
where lives collide with a soft click.
Close your eyes, put your ears to the ground and listen.


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