Syzygy, he and me
The metaphors leap to mind;
sun and moon, earth and sky,
before and after, love and hate.
The union, complete,
for all it seems at times to be
broken, scattered, rent, or destroyed
in any still moment, that small whisper,
“Are you still there?”
brings the faintest echo,
over far fields and across mental miles,
“Always… and in all ways.”
Heraclitus named it of old;
many since he have done the same;
the union of opposites,
the ultimate oneness
left in shadows and layered
beneath masques
so the ego play may continue and,
the fears, be assuaged
The pulse of samaya flutters,
a lush and wholly fearless thing,
like a moth against a winter pane
straining for the light as if
it is other than shared;
some bonds are made of beauty,
for all many decry as universal
the notion of a fettering
Jewels within a weft of silk,
strands of connection stronger than life
a sweet struggle against which
to lose is to win
Through amber’s murky thickness,
I look upon the skeins between us;
bunched up, we seem so close
unfurled, we seem so far
but the delicate thrumming
of silken strands
yet reaches me
how odd it is that
I know by “name” each resonance
With a tender, slow tugging,
I reply… pseudo-semaphore,
tug, tug, tug-and-hold-and-then….
Release.