ORACLE, I

Without spouting predictions

or announcements of any sort

• justa whimsy-flow 

from a grove in the ground

encoded with sound;

the flowing song of running water

upswelling from the rocks,

sanctified in fecund darkness. 

Else, made from ephemeral stuffs: 

elemental oxygen or fire -

the way sparks fly and light fragments

in hypnagogic shards;

as if flow wasn’t a continuity,

but, like separate video clips

somehow animated into one fluid continuum.

The Word is sunk deep in the

psyche of Time:

meaning, purpose - not only plain survival:

in the aeons, it seeps through the edges of density -

any which way, whether via

resonance or refraction:

in many languages and ritual  expression of art-form, dance,

drums, voice and practise.

The quanta of digits, moments and breath

amount to chi-in-action;

lifeforce teetering on itself,

in the balancing of polarities:

slippy tracks of juxtaposition -

the momentum of pure be-ing.