A Broken Wheel and the Simeon-Seers

Back then, 

Deeper-space pulled itself 

Into a tight circular ball, 

And the collective dust of "ever was" 

Fit neatly onto the head of a very heavy pin. 

The weight gathered, 

And with momentum,

It dropped down like a fruit-stone 

Into a funnel-shaped well. 

Sound reflected

And mirrored back into 

Something thick and labored. 

As an open throat, 

The well consumed everything

It swallowed;

But the fruit-stone,

     that eternal vowel, 

Split its yawn wide open. 

Then it gargled up 

The sound of a 

Multidimensional static. 

In that space, 

We ceased spinning 

Downward, 

And the now-broken wheel 

Compelled all the bits of dust 

To shake loose: 

The well emptied, 

And like the graceful gesture 

Of a tipping hat 

In a spiral nose-dive,

It filled the moment. 

When the sounds dried up, 

The well disappeared and 

Revealed a newly formed leaf 

That sprouted 

From a branch 

On a surface. 

The in-suck of breath 

Transmitted desperate radio waves 

To the distant simeon-seers 

Who stood on guard near the edge of the forest. 

The frequency marked a shift of consciousness 

Where syllables tied the knot we share. 

The implosion of this action confides a secret: 

We are traveling the backward path 

And nothing gets erased. 

Division multiplies and carries 

With it a piece of everything, 

And the sublime moments are 

Viewed with circumspect 

While blessed awareness 

Is the curse we endure. 

From this all flows 

A message beyond the circle. 

The message marches beyond 

Greedy, fertile, clamorous hands 

And pulls at the threads of a well-worn coat.