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the string of my eye plumbs from its center

                        and i lashed as if spinning twixt unequal orbs

am flung in spirals amongst spirals

                         and spirals within spirals

                   whose motioned spheres they are themselves

             measured in breaths 

                         and breaths in lungs

that bellow a chorus of infinite regress

                       and renew the sails stitched from our masks

caught by the string of my eye

   the night’s pendulum arcs  

                                              as the earth shutters the sun

                            through we gaze 

                 filtered by the dead dusts

                                    that linger at our nostrils

                                              lilting for a moment

before drawing upon themselves again

the earth lays itself sleeping 

with the rhythm of a sense perfect bell

in the gray that hides from

the clasp of that brilliant white mark

that writes green disk upon our lidded eyes

and traces in us the pace 

that holds just out of grasping

the song of   a star

that sings of a  promise 

                     beyond the shape of its living

weekly quote

(drawn from what I have been reading during the week)

“When the Soul wants to experience something she throws out an image in front of her and then steps into it.”

―Meister Eckhart