I try to enter an eon:
the one at the center of my skull,
but something needs a bridge there —
a way to cross the river that drinks from me.
When I listen too closely, I’m blinded
by the sound,
so many speaking all at once.
Shapes made of our watching
circle near us, and through —
We are moving around in the word,
into the light above the stone.
(There is a voice that can be seen.
There is a voice that also sees.)about the author