immersion,
almost black.
Eyes shut black
where
under threat
there's found
necessary equilibrium,
necessary sustenance.
Feeling about
with hands outstretched,
guessing at textures
encountered,
surfaces under hand.
Bound by redundancy,
a cyclical pattern,
perpetual,
eventual...
the snake eating its tail,
the eagle and the weasel,
redundant systems
upon redundant systems.
From which all
spews forth
is the Spring,
drawing from the
deepest ground waters
only to circle 'round
again
and again
and
again.
And here it is
I sway
heart in hand,
teetering
over heart and hands,
singing
over a body laid down.
And there,
you see it?
There's that edge again.
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