June 7, 2002

  • I simply am--lost again. 
    How is it that I'm always drawn back
    to pondering the primal motions of things
    --such as the worlds revolving--
    as if I'm once again an infant transfixed
    upon watching a mobile suspended from the ceiling
    as I lay in solitude in my playpen? 
    I close my eyes and a montage ensues.
    Could I merely own it with my imagination,
    like a giant Jimmy Stewart rabbit friend,
    then better I'd be.
    But what I partake with that inner eye
    wrecks imagination quite critically
    as it arises and then expands
    as reality to infinity.

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