There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before. – Willa Cather
there is no backward
there is only closing
there are no finite lines: only circles, curling
curves that balloon and burst
continually shedding from the center of the earth
slippers peeling from the jewel-heart,
the center of the center,
from where beginning ends and the end starts.
the world changed! but in the changing,
lost what was before, and not a mite
no, not an inch has “progressed”:
the worth of what it shed
is equal weight to what it gained.
little world, you are still this many, this high.
always budding. always dying.
Connected from yesterday’s fragment (which I posted this morning), a still ongoing question and thought that has haunted me.