The Hidden Shine
The scope of a word is definition
That of the world is measurement:
Weight, the reach of dimension
Set regular in its quadrants
Open to test and to inspections;
Even subtle light and electricity
Can be tagged by qualifications
Known as temperature and energy.
But mind shatters all such convention
Flow occult unseen in life blown
Animating yet outside extension
The hidden shine of a thing unknown
Touched only by its own reflection,
Perhaps boundless as Heraclitus said,
Burning through scientific verification
A vortex spoken but never read.
Sonnet 3
If we could but the summer days recall
Long hours of sun and nights of fireflies,
Our Green Man’s glory before advance of fall
When all his verve in somber colors dies;
They would as coals warm us over again
When Jack Frost mocks us by his touch
Upon the skin and heart of living men
The scars of winter flowing from his clutch.
Heat gives way to cold in cosmic dance
Upon the field of time, endless slumber,
Dreams flicker images of occult anti-chance
Beneath the thin shadows of blank winter.
Yet all things by their endless cycles repeating
Offer hope of some new and different spring.
