Sunday, December 27, 2009


Does it feel eyes focus
On a foggy night,
Corona close around the moon,
Dew drip like clockwork
Under eaves, what I hear,
See, what I believe
Beside this house in
Mist and night and outward,
Ever, where gravity and light
Travel and galactic dawns
Subtend the end of time?
A machine of echoes:
Immensities turn
On irreducibles.
In this coldness, haven,
Crucible, all parts fit
And it knows me.
I am made of it.


  1. Hello Geo.,
    Thanks so much for stopping by my blog-actually I felt that it was more of a place where I speak to myself and then you left such a nice comment. Thanks.
    This work =your stream of consciousness is grand - I practice this exercise as well but certainly not as well placed as yours. I like the way you think-
    your words dance very nicely on black space. Janet

  2. My pleasure Janet,

    Visiting each others' blogs is one of the best things about this century's technology. We learn useful things and emerge into a less baffling world --all from our desks or, in my case, kitchen table. Glad you liked my comment. I like yours!