Perfectly Unformed

 

2002 S.H. Gilbert

 

Hello, hello, he said

Supine on morphine cushions

And the winterhard regrets

required in that zone once inside

 

And how have fantasies caused such searing agony

in the sudden choices left so long ago

For are we not just smoke rings of finite mortality

Perfect in the circle, perfectly unformed

 

Fall schemed as Summer one day

Supine on Demerol comforters

And the greenwood graces

Blessed the world we looked in toward

 

And now should realities cause such soaring ecstasy

In the lotus beginning to be reborn

For are we not manifestations of our infinite immortality

Perfect in the circle, perfect in the form