Filed under Poetry

Apollophysis* is not many Nature

Not a thing; yet the fullness of all things
Not a void; yet a womb to all that is known
Other than all, though as all, becoming
This fullness is like a cup overflowing.

What is this Nature is
A question never answered
Each answer changes the subject
As Apollophysis is
Never still when questioned
In stillness are no questions.

Dancing, Apollophysis goes as fated
Round and round, moment by moment –
A dancehall full with dancers sated
Twirling moments within the gaze of Apollo.

A dance that is many formed
Each a memory of moments and twirls
This is – this Nature; And within the gazing

Forming the momentary form –
Being, sweet music; twirls within twirls –
Apollo is the orchestra – conductorless
Each its own sheet music

But for the gaze of will
Which hides behind the curtain
Behind this twirling dance of moments
Still and unseen, but seeing still.

*”Apollophysis” ap-allo-foo-sys, from Greek a – not, pollōn – many, physis – nature)

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