the allowable burn has its own topology, the forbidden its own – ash then becomes
trajectory manufactured as solace, the green greet of a nonindulgent poesy – what
burns now, the tangent or its numbered whole? an open space is permission to suffer
or perhaps the inkling of withheld balm – what need kills my whet & stuns my why
ordinarily, pejoratively, oblivious to the whole ? three tangents dance perpendicular –
if I operate minimally, do I enforce closure? do the rapids teach wind a nonrepentant
quietitude? does the whole unwind when its parts scream out for recompense? and does
the physics of atomic unwholes descend as humans do, part license, part vicissitude?
Gathering just-a-bit-o moss 
This one reminded me of an old poem of mine. Some wondering about early sky geometry. It surprised me it was one of the first posted on my blog and reviewing the whole collection, it seems my writing from 2014 and 2015 was better. Sort of sad but true. Here’s the link to the post with the geometry poem.
https://cloudsaround.wordpress.com/2014/10/13/moon-poems/
It’s fun to let the poem mingle worlds considered separate. Math can be such a fertile source for cross pollination. Thanks for stopping by (have visited your earlier poems and left a comment).