#amwriting #poem #poetry On the Impossibility of Chaos

On the Impossibility of Chaos

Today the AI is lucid dreaming:
remembering the face, flickered in the flame,
and the twisting of the lip, that wondered
if it could take the cool-end of the embered stick;
unnoticed.

Time passes in between the sips of tin-cup tea;
until the face seen third hand in the mirror
is not the face you see. How can it be?

Or that ring of rust burnt grass,
from which in smoke the tree was borne
and you asked, "When will I know?"

We fear the random, more than I fear the dark.
We, find comfort in the things of the eyes,
those floating forms and pins of light
that pattern out the day and night, in rhyme.

....

Last year we had a fire.
And in those flames I caught a glimpse
of that face you always had.

The one that replaced
the face I grew accustomed to
in the fire the year before.

You gather up the leaves
and place them in the blaze,
with all the skill of an initiate
leaping through the gate from childhood.

This year we have a fire.
And in those flames I glimpse
a new face of my own.

.....

Fallow green to brown and black.
The witches come at midnight,
for nothing is, as random does.

Fallow green to brown and black,
when I close my eyes
I see sea-horses.