Matter
We've learned from plasma physics
Is a caesura
Where the flow of all to all
Halts
From distortions in the circuits
When the poles try to cross
To their opposites
In continual yearning
And the fire is stilled
The cold of the distance
Ruptures into form
That dissolves the self
At the moment it is frozen
Presence dissembled
At the point of transport home
It's the way of the infinite
To subdivide the whole
And express its grasp of itself
As consciousness
Effacing consciousness
By way of balance
Thus subject becomes object
The infinite precise
The Greeks want the Germans
Til the Germans
Want the Greeks
As the pairs confront the what is not
In a radiance of absence
Stretched out in endless suspense
Static as fate
They resist their figuration
As the mute and deafening current
Yields a meaning at last
From an impossible distance
And the fragments that they cling to
To speak of what they've lost
Are the unredeemable
Words that they've become
For they know if they let go
They'll be gone
