Excerpt from “Gnossienne no. 4”
Read Gnossiennes in Arc Poetry.

“I bowed to the Moon, to the labyrinthine waters that reflected its light, sewn in and out like a quilt complicated by colour as well as luminescence. The waters that hold everything but do not dare reveal their secrets—a locked safe. To this I bowed, letting my hands graze the long grass.

“Time here is compressed, and time here is also stretched toward a center that moves with the focus of the eyes. Serpentine tree trunks produce a new face with each eye-browed ridge, curled mouth timber, graceful heights—this is my kind of company! The grass provides too, expanding as the breath of the earth exhales, and builds anew again—the soft, soft grass, that grows longer by the cliff’s edge, creating a finer bed, or a warning sign for unstable ground. The swirl of each element, like a tightly packed crowd at Carnivale—the breath, the motion—the dance! Mania, a ritual that will never be disturbed.

“When I looked back the way I came, my sight was impaired—so long did I stare! —and everything was blacker than it was previously, darkness with added depth. I walked back to my own locked front door and once inside, began to steam the broccoli, retrieving the meatloaf from its cool shelf.”