Perpetual Canon

It was never easy 

to jump into that lyrical rope

but if you could pull it off you’d lose track of how it wove

and let its strands hold you.

Under the deposit of clayed bank

water twisted between tightly pressed rocks.

It was never easy 

but it was in its nature to weave.

Synapses like thinking galaxies 

under the folds of mind 

attach the past to the tongue,

but still, it was never easy.

In the church, the temple, the shul, the mosque,

filled with their thinking galaxies 

weave their words round and round:

mulling it over with their collective tongues.

It was only natural

in the church, temple, shul, mosque;

in the water welled clay; in the thinking galaxies, moving round.

Natural, yes, but never easy.