Permutations of motion though matter;
the ecstatic union of void & fire;
mutation arrayed
in differential display:

                                is this

use of language the only way
for the feeling to fade
& finally escape
from my bones?

Can't I ever
go beyond what is here in front of me
& reach the place
I want to be?

No.

Escaping the maze
is not an option,
so I remain trapped
in oxymoronic structures;
the point
where concept concedes to content;
when precision
& all measurement
reach their limitation,
but grammar still remains needed
for practical reasons.

Without language there is
no way to express
this sense
of frustration & unease
echoing through me,
as I witness
unbounded expansions
ripple & sway
when thrown stones

disturb the surface of a lake,
reverberate
in brief undulations,
& sink
slowly
until they can be seen
no longer:

nothing ever
disappears completely…

but you're too far away
for me to care.

Even if absences linger within
every presence,
there's nothing comforting
in that knowledge:

what remains of the lost

is not enough.