Fractal

This entry is part 13 of 15 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Spring 2016

 

Off in the woods, the glint of old glass.
Light another spear glancing off what’s shorn.
What they mean when they say fractal:
all the selves, never discarded; only spun,
differently colored, blue with memory or amber
from what filled and filled and sometimes emptied.
Hand, mouth, head. Isn’t that what fragments are for?
From what filled and filled and sometimes emptied
differently colored, blue with memory or amber:
all the selves, never discarded; only spun.
What they mean when they say fractal:
light another spear glancing off what’s shorn;
off in the woods, the glint of old glass.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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