not defined by the constant and unchanging,
but by difference, ever out of balance.
Not quite solving the puzzle posed
by gradients of heat and salt
(but finding anyway
a silkily perfect sequence
of not-quite solutions).
The buffeting heft of air,
the hurricane-breeding Gulf, breath-warm,
the abyssal drag of freighted Arctic waters,
the whale-haunted depths sing a siren undertow
for a grand procession into darkness.
A chaotic-precise ballet, of spin and tilt.
Choreographed, the countervailing currents reel,
pick wisps off one another.
The eddies shed and whirl themselves to rest,
a cold core flung out, loosening to nothing.
Unending, self-consuming ouroboros
snakily coiling in upon itself.
A flickering, lapping dab of salty tongues
taste the frigid air then vanish,
down into the hole of itself.
And comes up a thousand years away,
cold in its bones, the brilliant eye
dulled to sightlessness
warms slowly, eating up the sun,
stunning the air to a fogged silence.
An intricately braided Celtic knot
set to vex a monk
beyond the edge of comforts:
a palimpsest of prayers the salt tears trace
across the drowning face of god.
A glistering surface to the mystery beneath
carries the history of itself in traces.
A bomb blast, the muck of a species
shaping itself in its own image
with whatever comes to hand.
Strangely-attractive strange attractor, perpetual brink.
Oh, half-sage half-sane sailor’s guide,
track of the trackless seas,
and river in the ocean