THE WEEK IS A CIRCLE
OF SHADOW AND LIGHT
The
week is a circle of shadow and light
The
month is an orb luminous and bright
Time is like a spiral taut like a spring
Like jagged mountains in chaotic rings
As sky fishes swim in the light of the
sun
Circling the Stellar Stele in the
wake of one
With umbras on their wing
foam tossed about the day
A froth of hues and
archetypes hidden in the spray
Radii of penumbras bridging the horizons
Trailing off to nowhere
Fading through the distance
As clouds coursed through the sky
The sky would fill with clouds
In an instant
Of sound showering
upon the canopy of wind
Belying the silence
The Truth Opalisks would
appear
Some Janus Jewels
Dancing
around the sound
Pulsing, flashing,
building, reflecting
Their
diamond fire rays dart across the ether like dragon tongues
They are like vessels fittered to ford
The ray river Nonunon
To
breach the Pale and ferry off an ancient memory
To constitute Unon anon
To
plant the city state in moss and mud
Where the Captains would step on
unseen stars
Furling
their seals upon the softness of clouds
They
entered the country and called it Chattel
By
this deed they could jealously nurture it
Tame
it and trim it and drive it through thicket
Within the unexpected hour it drives
through barren and stand
Till the seas grew into aeons
The Captains rolled out the country
Chattel
With the strength of their arms
They swept it bald
While
beside the river ‘neath drooping trees
Their branches hanging loosely with
heavy leaves
Groups
of Stragglers dip their ladles into the liquid gleam
In three-quarter time and stately stance
Stragglers
fashioning their own staffs
Constructing their own vans
Wandering
like Roma around the March
Drinking
dreams from the ray river
That fences in the world.
The
Truth Opalisk spoke
In harmonies of light and song
Few
persons could comprehend
The ringing refrain and majestic score
The sound shrinks to fit
through hidden doors
Till such moments that were
appearless
And in such state to
constitute Unon anon
On
every Sunday and Monday
The
Listeners would hear like Trumpets
They
would sit themselves at the gate
And
refract the good music
In
tones of plaid and gilded purls
These
refractions were as trinkets woven together
into
meadow scenes
embroidered
with arbors, gardens,
and
dreamlike sparkling founts
Then
the men would come from all about
Gird their loins and offer
their shouts
Light their pipes and fill
the vale with smoke
Pile high the stones to give
the caves their cloaks
Gather their folk to pick
pomegranates
Then store them in the
ziggurats
The
Captains would of time to time
Roll
on rocks and kneel in dales
Shape
the glades into feathered arcs
Of
vert posts holding aloft flowery plates of mail
And
string them across the verdured vale
But by Thursday the country would
curdle
Then the Captains would fortify their
parlors
Smooth out all the corners
Placing all their whelps and obs within
Along with the moon-faced mothers and the starflower
children
Then the Captains set themselves against the fire
and the sky
While missiles and bumps are bartered in the breeze
By
Saturday the people are spent
They lay about the lanes like husks
strewn
amidst the flotsam of city
life
Amidst the smoldering of
gate and guard
Amidst the clumps of clamor
and clutter
As Potentates and Constitutes crumble in the rain
On Sunday the Listeners would
speak again
To the Builders and Planters
standing upright anew
Croon the plaid songs out of
key
In glittering observance
claim
The
Truth Opalisk means salvation
It means redemption
It means glory and state
God is that, God is this
It means do this or die
It means ashes
It means shackles
Restraining
the mind
And
fettering it to the crops in the field
God is the glue that binds us
to Non
This is fortune
…The Truth
Opalisk beams
Always
a dissimilar penumbra
Always
a differing scene of light and shade
Always
the same majestic score
Drifting
away through the hidden door
/Round about Nonunon, clouds linger on
the boughs
Linger in the square, linger on the coast/
On occasion the Captains would thresh out a song
From the flashing fertile sky
Singing “Ours is not to reason why”
Each country called anon
Made the light sail ‘cross the sky
Converting Sunday into Monday
Discovery
was just a design no longer heard or remembered
Thus
light would come across the umbra of its own train
The
umbra of an avatar swimming in the rain
Spinning
the Janus Jewels for one and all
Most
of all are with the Captains in the March
While Stragglers struggle to match the
checker and the ring
/Summer would not be without
fall
To sing of it in pale refrain
Pray for what the spring may bring
Endure one extended wintery
sight
A vision fading in the crisps
of white
Listening to the purity of
its light/
Our is not to
wonder why
Was the Captains
and Trumpeters perennial cry
Yet
a Straggler would respond to the circling light
Straighten
out the line of sight
Chant
our common plight
And
sing into the expeditious night
“That it is ours to wonder why”
Cheer the flashing sky
Breach the Pale and cease to
name
Send out our gaze through
window frame
To look forever in peace and
light
And leave at last the empty
night
The
week is a circle of shadow and light
The
month is an orb luminous and bright
Time is like a spiral taut like a
spring
Like jagged mountains in chaotic rings
The week is a circle of
shadow and light