The String of My Eye

 
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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

with 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 lids of our 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