Form

A new poem for my fellow myeloma patients and other ill friends.

The spark in the dark becomes the chakra of the heart


The blossomy geometry of sacred shapes


unfold from there the tree of life in spiral parts
and golden bones
 And light is held from its escape

The math of me and cabbage heads emerge the same


Unwound yet bound to forms by cosmic laws defined


Vitruvian me, walking infinity, is tamed


by chaos theory

  like ferns and seashells in their design

Now, in illness, the math of my marrow has changed


The kidneys have lost their command


No longer voluptuous fractals am I


but stooped bent equations


that cannot support their weight or stand

Unsolved:


What am I without form?

Resolved:

I am the field of wind and waves, I am the force


commanding mass and rolling free, free spiraling me


I am the mystery and one with the source


Destined to spark
 And not to have been but to be