I am own portal metaphoric lens
walking parable of parables trend
laden chaos and peaceful blue bubbling
laced ecstasy-agony redoubling
tessellated with light-shadow angles
body-mind-soul mirroring time-space prisms
life's stages, stanzaic modalities
matrixed in three dimensional marrows
merkabic, scope's aspiring bolero
translucent metaphoric sombrero
From one singularity came the exploding spark,
Not yet stars, not yet light, only potential.
A field unseen, stretched taut as thought,
Holding energy like a clenched fist of time.
Expansion surged, a storm without wind,
Not matter racing, but space itself unfurled.
Faster than light, yet no law was broken—
Relativity bowed, not shattered, in awe.
Negative pressure, a repulsion profound,
Bent the equations toward infinity’s edge.
In the womb of the cosmos, space time grew,
Doubling, redoubling, in a heartbeat’s breath.
Quantum tremors, minute as dust,
Were stretched across horizons vast.
Seeds of galaxies, of suns and worlds,
Carried within fluctuations’ song.
What mystery drives the inflaton’s dream?
What hand steadied the potential’s curve?
In equations I see its fleeting ghost,
A pressure that sings of repulsive fire.
And when it ended, it left a gift:
Heat, light, matter, the chance to begin.
The hot Big Bang was its second act,
The stage prepared by a silent overture.
I wonder still if beauty was its aim,
Or only chance in quantum disguise.
Yet in its breath, the universe awoke.
For V.R.S.
A bend, a pirouette--a flower's dance
reflects in his shadowed eyes, and in her
thorned steps, the atrophying force rooted and redoubling.
Promise me, he breathes behind a teacup
while she is encapsulated in a globe of fading light.
The briny-dotted atlases sit reverent,
assembled beside the living-
room's songs of foreign heartbreaks, each seeded and
grown rampant ivy on her mind's towers, those unseen
cracks of weathering leaving only dreams
of dreams to recirculate like seasons in a day.
Worn linen florals ebb about her body, settling in her late autumn
and hoary winter languishes beyond the pane
where wind-animate limbs, a veiny applause, galely
knock, and her upon the balustrade of
the Palladium,
Hermetic roses beneath her toes.
Were we ever as good as frozen petals?
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