1
Lonely are those
wrapped-up
in themselves,
As we would be
points
in absolute space
never unfolding
in lattice structure
never partaking
of divine grace.
And though time
be an enemy
and mass
weary our souls,
without this
space-time extension
our senses
would never know,
That life is an interval
of love
Space a function of time
Space-time an interval
of understanding
that given a moment, a universe
will synchronize,
And form a medium
in dark reaches
to warm a
vast cold
to turn evolution
in a moment
to contemplation
of a soul.
To escape
this medium, to escape
my first thought,
But survival
as an aberration
of life
has my departure
clocked
with my arrival.
2
Finding escape
impossible
I turn to you
and seek a way
to express
this medium
I must use
for my life’s work.
Discontinuities
I reach pass
to the joy
of new continuum
and touch your soul
a moment
however imperfectly
And flee not
from impending collision,
though I know
I’ll never again be free.
And what now?
Will I perish in the
heat of contact?
No, but become a
binary star.
Or lose self
in fleeting exchange?
No, gain self
by knowledge of her.
And be bound
by another will?
No, to entwine
in loves’ arms.
And lose again
when time is through?
No, for a moment
is more than time.
An interval is short,
a moment is forever,
the heart inside
knows soon after,
Though the body
be allotted little time
for love and laughter,
the soul really
is the only limiting factor.
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