he measured the room
by volume of the dark
with light subtracted,
moving as ulysses did in hades
he would find breakfast on the sand,
ocean not so far away
as high tides where relevant,
rituals began
ideas stencilled on embryonic dna
created this path and outlook,
sometimes he felt it was only he
he revolving and the earth had stopped,
it was not a crisis of meaning
only an imbalance on his poetics,
even in the dark
he could place a pen nib and write
about placing kisses on her
naked arcitecture,
a finding in deep silence
what she had really meant
under that cloak of shuddering mysticism
pen scratched paper
it would be ten pages,
before images faltered and pen halted,
ignoring wine that had already spilled on
table top,
peeled an orange
segmented aspects from which to
derive a special calm,
her bewitching had been an interference
but now choking fumes cleared
and he was at last
truly free
@dVersePoets
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