What is the soul of (a) man more like —
an apple or a star?
Both are perishable at diverging points —
That is to say:

nothing is infinite.
And yet everything is infinite,
memories of moments
indelibly suspended

amid the narrow galaxy of my mind.
I will waste a lifetime balancing eternities,
grappling with purported enormities,
measuring the minute arcs

of arbitrary patterns.

In this way,
coordinated stories
form constellations
to hover about

some unknowable shore.

What is the soul of (a) man more like —
a wormhole or a scar?
This archer disappoints:
he never hits the core.

01/07/2020

Posted on 01/07/2020
Copyright © 2024 Dane Campbell