When the time comes

by George Quasha

We like to say equal opportunity yet nothing is the same all things being equal.
The ambiguity saves us from instantaneous fundamentalism.

A single wild dancer gives signature to unmeaning literals.
The kairos from syllable to syllable as strand to strand is only true voiced so.

Seeing orange undefines color in person.
The sea is here before you and speaking for that matter.

Truth in image advocates no advocacy.
A line seeks the richer form of whole holding in to itself freely.

I am myself at the beginning of the line that finds me other in the end. Now.
Zero at the start wondering if I ever return is it me?

Psyche showing up is thicker.
Selves know each other by entanglement.

The self pattern evolves in loop de loop starting no point.
The moving zero reflects out of time.

You hardly know it’s there in sourcing the tangled bank so why think to say it?
Delphine leaping between elements displays loopy self integration no doubt.

Figuration has crawl.
Right timing is never only in time.

It arrives the more.