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