An ocean blows through your home.
Dark matter penetrates your flesh unsensed and is gone.
Nothing breathes. Nothing fills your lungs, for they are empty bags.
Your fingers are the current, yet they escape themselves
and meet themselves coming back.
They see as the moon pulls upward and the tide comes in,
or as the moon pulls outward and the tide comes in.
You have felt this in the Church or Synagogue or Mosque,
and would have written it but that your fingers see beyond themselves.
You would have spoken of it after walking mountain canyons
but that your lungs were meant more for breathing air.

What of the nautilus in time,
what of the gleaming pearl corridors that are the sand
building into a skeletal spiraled corridor of time that is a chamber
that erodes into sand and passes between our measurements beneath the waves?
What of the spiral as a thing itself that builds a continent
and erodes away What of the mineral core
of our planet distilled from infinite nova suns blown across night,
built into the spiral and eroded down mountain streams into the sea
How will it all regroup in time And where are we?

Think upon the many-chambered.
Think of Babylon with all its multi-layered gardens
as a culture thinking in base 60. Think of spheres being measured all at once
in all their angles outward. Three hundred sixty points of arc
beyond and before the Great Bang the beginning prime mover in every direction.
Remember Babylonian star gazers eclipsing into runes of ruin, or earlier
remember the spaces between even those lines that are inscribed on cave walls
at the beginnings of symmetry...no boundaries...think of how you might think.