This script it has a cosmic ring
It appears in the heron’s eyes, It stitches together sea and sky, In the same way that it first entered size And form, as it came from the hidden Box, that was not a box, that floated Before the unseen source, 2,000 years Before any atom was denoted, It is the secret of space, it Describes the curve of force, It is the terminal, it comes To Grand Central Station, it is the morse Code that tells the time, that signifies The schedule, the tracks through Blinding snow, the wind that lifts The driving sheets of flakes, the clue To a greater script that is no script But infinitely winds and is no Road, a silent, white hot burst, A secret galaxy, a silent echo of vertigo.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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