“Sonder a moment…
The Wondering Metaphysicist…
Your Ignis Fatuus.
They seek a geometry of conjuring spots.
A collision of collapsing corners.
Walls fallen; they paint the air.
Growing now dense and thickly
stitched within the gaseous
dance of the innumerable dead.
They seek the ancestries of eons
lain beneath the consistent constriction
of gravities deepest impressions.
For they found the trees had
grown into rock.
For they found the flora had
compacted into momentary stone.
As they scathe the time between the burials –
between the tribal arisings – they scavenge.
They seek the relevance in distances,
of the times between us.
They seek the metaphor at the yolk
of nature’s virtue –
the collective distillations
of the human expression.”