any of it, but
all you need
to know
is the brute fact
of voices
rolling higher
and faster
toward this ever-
crescendoing
shore of
low slowness—
until at last,
they crash, and then
burst, and stream
farther
and farther
apart, as
your grasp
of the concept
of divergence
itself starts
to melt
and to merge
into one self-
contained and yet
boundary-less
object:
a firework,
spidering
out through
a black sky
and clinging
to the spacious,
sacred emptiness
of night
which exists
beneath the lid
of the single
closed eye
which sleeps
inside the wise
mind of every
unborn child.
