The Art of Antiquity

Of mouths and minds, where they

Shimmer the shapeless form,

In the depths of origin, and rudiment,

Ready to be reborn.

Courtesy of our speaking tongues,

Which gives all to us that can be rung,

Bellflower to dungeon Tower,

Waiting to be re-sung.

Dance does the compass of meaning,

Beyond which any human can touch,

Conjugal thoughts of pristine experience,

Wording to be non-such.

Entwine to see multiplicity,

Of words that are with us now, and foregone,

In the memory of true moments,

Ready to be forlorn.

Known in the magic of static rhythms,

Of an image it appeared to have shown,

From the distances of tomorrow,

Awaiting to be re-sown.

Timeless is the provocation, the notion to exist,

In mirrors and sorrows of motions,

A new space that seems to persist,

Wording to exist.