there is a whole world built in mystery,
from sulfur, salt, and mercury
that hides between the ones you see
in cyclical exultancy.
perihelion, so perfectly,
for a moment, it comes close to me,
so said the starlight, to the sea,
do you know where all rivers lead?
christmas evening, everyone is sleeping, and i just found a rocky mountain columbine, petals torn and pressed between the pages of an old, abandoned, sketchbook. i’m reading an article about how the correct topology of cyclic cosmology might in fact be circle in circle, and i think i like the idea. that way, everything begins at the end, and there’s not a beginning at all. i’ve drunk far too much champagne.