She finds pleasure in shapes and patterns,
natural complexity invades her head,
and she lets it, the twist of a stick enchants;
flowers of moss as minute as pinheads,
overlapping layers of fallen leaves,
glint of sun’s rays on river’s fleeing surface,
all are treasures ignored by many,
but they absorb her mind. She finds
tenderness there, and confined chaos,
birth and death, experimental rhymes
nurture her spirit with abstract flight,
not material angst of longing.

Calculation appalls her, straight lines thud,
fences, squares, pretenses, all lack the sweep
of cosmic genesis, the fluidity of serendipity
holding infinity in a contour, or eternity
in a baby bird’s gaping mouth, essence
behind quintessence arcs luminously,
spirals continuously, blurry-edged
with possibilities, an anthem
of creation. Eventual intelligent implosion
obliterates yesterdays
as they pass into tomorrow,
reformed by the hands of Man
into superficial diamond hardness.

There is no escape
from the limitless hypnotic trances
of defined matter patterned
in the passage of time,
and viewed by her eye's mind.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 8/7/05