ON CIRCULAR RUINS

She a poem, I
a geometer.

Vacuum ready to explode,
she’ll give birth to baby universes
with different dimensions,
where time is no longer the time.

Whirling dervish,
I read her over and over
on life’s endless circles,
always the same, always different
glancing sideways, I now discover
existence on an endless spiral.

Read her again, backwards spinning left,
forwards rotating opposite.

Either way takes me to the void,
to a land of indeterminacy
where boundary of a boundary does not exist.

Full of uncertainty, lost in syllables,
I long for a Shaman’s hand
to squeeze me back into a loop
and turn me into speck of dust
rotating aimlessly on her circular ruins.

—Sultan Catto

 

Copyright © Adel Gorgy 2012 Photograph Infinity Everywhere after Monet (The Four Trees)
Cross-Cultural Communications Art & Poetry Series Broadsides # 53