This Face that Sometimes Comes to Me

I catch it only clumsily,
this face that sometimes comes to me:

bright visible glissandi adumbrate its path –
kaleidoscopic shards of it – a fractal math

in Chartres-worthy stained glass color –
make its glory even fuller

than the last time it arrived.
It seems to have derived

from dark demanding need –
hard to tell from greed –

although I do not know if it is mine.
The little thread I give you here is but a tiny vine

amid an Amazonian rich growing thickness –
surging forward with a quickness

that suggests synaptic power.
All I have to do to see it flower

is to shut my unresisting eyes.
And there it sometimes is, insisting on surprise.





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