In strange crystal
Accessible to other traumas
If not the original
Frisson of shock,
How all that we knew
Went into that,
As if to build a structure
Of becoming
To take in
What would only moan in pain
As it does today
In an auburn whisper,
Still rarefied, still raw,
But almost knowing.
A pattern has been captured,
Some vague resemblance
To something else
That lives on in the tendons
Of our reach,
Lodged in so many
Layers of pathos
The heart no longer knows
How to feel about it,
As it stretches for the exercise
Like a surfer
Riding away the years
In pursuit of the perfect
Rise into the wave,
Increasingly alone
With what never yields
And never comprehends,
A testament to time spent,
As foam obliterates its line
Again and again,
As if the seeking is
The only thing that lasts,
The unknown is all
We can see,
The table washed clean.
