Vermeer's Muse


I am passing through

a sequence of spun still frames

shedding, showering

rhythmically recycled

ephemeral dust

 

This too solid flesh

belongs to time's illusion

I am a whisper

in your head, a quickening

of the soul's marrow

 

I am mere cipher

reflection of perception

I, a backward glance

down the halls of memory

glimpse of future past

 

Yet am I present

in the consummate design

unpolished carbon

scintillating in the beam

of a loving eye

 

I am passing through

one, two, three, four dimensions

God exquisitely

aligns the daguerreotype

eternal lustre

 

 

 from The Twain, Poems of Earth and Ether