Will Inman
a gravity that works by will
farmost flight moves wingless infinite in
takes a stretch of that to gird up for
going out yonder
earth-gravity’s roots reach just so
far
a deeper gravity than grounding can guide
outward
space measures only in motion, nothing out
there
is fixed: orbit runs on invisible tracks,
pull
speaks a dialectic among inmost cores, you
must carry a gravity that works by will
but no willing travels independent: every
whirl and globe and cosmic wind, every
flare
pulse wave --
impinges on each other.
you must become cosmic random to transcend
yet even transcendence moves in orbits
created
wingless in nectars of distance: no one
outreaches
god except by entering and being entered
by
a harmonious resonance of all forces come aum
such communion, being still, travels
farmost:
a raveling of disparate resonance occurs
voiceless, wordless, yet comes conscious
in shoulders baited reachless with space