The poem doesn’t care who writes it

It is waiting in the wings

A belt of ekphrastic energy circumnavigating the earth

The planet we are made of

While others struggle to be fastened down completely

By standard protocols of identity and access management

We enter an archway and just keep walking

It’s good exercise

As opposed to war, pollution, greed, hate and delusion

Though these certainly have their adherents
I is a sum total adding up to now

Subject to future operations

Add to, subtract from, multiply by, divide by

And drive by

Trailing a long history like a tail

Reaching back into the paleo

There’s no place like magma

When it comes time to relax

And think it over

But we are too busy being multiples
The fountain draws from many streams

By way of the existence of cities

Shoots its spray to the heavens

In Technicolor and black and white

This experience of seeing

Is basic to being both awake and asleep

An insertion just beneath the skin

A workshop just beneath the floor

Water beneath the surface of the earth

Darkness
Transformation is natural

Woman to man, man to woman

The long road to being

The butterfly’s return

Silence where before there was none

The poem does not let go

It arrives from the future incessantly

Ordinary fingers pick up on its cascade of plans

We can see it from here

A head with stars for eyes
To play extremely slowly

Is to caress the surface of time

To speed to abolish its domain

Cheer up my brothers and sisters

And walk in the sunshine

Our understanding is so very great

Being beyond the comprehension of a single mind

Life forms outstrip the rigorous calisthenics of calculation

Populate the ocean floor