Tachyon Violet

(for Daniel)

The thing about a poem, it

Travels forward backward—

The deeper you press in,

The more sense that first

—line—

Read a little while back—

Becomes defined to you—

Like a highway sign in reverse.

A poem purifies colors into bright specter;

The mind-soul of sunlight,

Hidden, awash in white-light, becomes that

Which is always already within:

Violet violet blue;

It makes all my details, body—

Makes me real—

This tachyon definition from you

As my mind sees more detail

The more it takes in at the future’s

Soak-in point

—to right now.

And there you are.

Somehow, you can flip-forward

  time

  and beauty

  and me

As I walk with you—

You, with the fear of a Local God

—quiet and intense at the prospect

Of being given name.

And with you I suddenly I realized how

I’ve always been right

—my whole life—

—about THIS:

Sometime ago God

—shattered—

From one being into

  countless within formless;

Then, God, speaking his own name

  in his own dead tongue

  began a prayer to himself,

  a prayer that before it ends,

    calls on YOU.

Everything began as distant bang! and too

In billions of years all of it eventually

  shall fling too far apart

    to see one galaxy from the next;

But, Daniel, love—

  how are YOU today?