The Same Place

I come to the same place
which is never the same place
because traces of eternity like specks
of living glitter keep bedecking it
and flecking it – sentiently inspecting it
as prelude to the daily goosing
of its dull gray feathers – yet again –

into unprecedented gold – bold
spectacle – all’s glamour: anodyne
to tedium and clamor – puts the hammer
to all preconceived devotions
and emotions: blots the sun out
with unfathomable brightness –
all distracts from any notion of its

provenance: proceeds from nowhere
else – and yet it doesn’t come from
here. I wonder if there’s much to fear –
beware of – in an essence
utterly dimensionless which has no
rhyme for time and does not care for
anything that I’m aware of.



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