in the heart there is a hole and into this hole stars are falling, nothing escapes, not even light; it is perfectly black like the mouth of a long and narrow street inlaid with black cobblestones, and walking along this cobblestone street, you suddenly enter your childhood.
outside in the haze a mist encloses a green-blue mountain, your heart is reverbrating with the rushing water of a swift-flowing stream. you are swept by an irresistible current, a mystic pull of words and not of stardust but of space-time, the inside of which is black with smoke.
there is a hole in the heart, around it time is twisted up like a whirlpool that traces a fantastic motion cast like leaves on swirling water: reality is simply that i am sitting in this room which is black with smoke; reality is myself; reality is only the perception of an instant; reality exists through experience.
outside, a damp mist spreads over the valley and the trunks of the distant ginkgo trees silhouetted by the light becomes gentler. it is then that the mountain manifests itself and all around a thick darkness closes in a never-ending implosion, at the event horizon, the pull of gravity becomes infinite.
in the heart there is a hole, a black hole where the future leads only inward and the darkness is so palpable it is a wall. there is no road back, only the tangled mass of unerased consciousness, the cold nonexistence of hyperspace. the mind reels, begs for a metaphor, a lifeline to the familiar.
but outside, a sprawling mist hangs like a blazing ring around the hole, a curtain of smoke terrified of the other shore with its unmoving eyes, bright black eyes seeing right to the heart, and a deathly loneliness prevails behind the curtained doorway. beyond the gates, the surging of the river and the soughing of the night wind all seem to be flowing from my heart.
[Original Post Date: 10/29/2002]
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This is a found poem.