If through a glance
I could but slow
the shuddering speed
of time — across
the distances cold
'tween budding drops:
reflectors of lives
that never lost
their luminous sheaths,
—impatterned wisps—
but pass them along
with silent lips
in light-strewn symphonies.
II.
Another movement, now
is resurrected —
by arc of star, yet how
can contemplated be —
the shapes, the billion manners
of their bent convexities —
splashed across the windowpane
of all the endless galaxies?
III.
All the heart of life is in a drop —
a molten drop, a blinding sphere sublime
that replicates its beauty with a word —
immortal word, that set in motion time.
_____________________________________
Original writing and images by Daniel Pendergraft, created for HIVE to be published on May 22, 2020.
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