Forest Hanging from Inflection Point
by Daniel Carden Nemo
Light slings low between detached dimensions
where the forest hangs from an inflection point.
It makes for it a shell-shaped labyrinth,
a network of nodes in which photons cross-sweep the retina.
Alveoli drink it neat, render movement possible.
Reflections travel by a sort of revolution.
Aerial structures lie bare here in the trueness
of physical time as if darkened by fallout,
past and future are infinite corridors running at each other.
Nothing to hold them in place except your story told from birth to death,
who you are, an untested hypothesis:
yours-meets-theirs, the world.
where the forest hangs from an inflection point.
It makes for it a shell-shaped labyrinth,
a network of nodes in which photons cross-sweep the retina.
Alveoli drink it neat, render movement possible.
Reflections travel by a sort of revolution.
Aerial structures lie bare here in the trueness
of physical time as if darkened by fallout,
past and future are infinite corridors running at each other.
Nothing to hold them in place except your story told from birth to death,
who you are, an untested hypothesis:
yours-meets-theirs, the world.
© Daniel Carden Nemo
