Many and Varied Forms

			
these twists and turns of fate, how cruel,
How trite, this theme that permeates,
These epicyclic loops and curls
And makes of recurrence turbid straits
 
Familiarity grasps the natural rule
And grasping finds itself so pulled
Towards the center, that changing heart,
That changing threatens to tear apart
 
Itself, the other, the still point,
The pin that holds the center still
 
These shadows fall on familiar walls
This plane of sea, this labyrinth,
Familiar as familiar walls,
Known as the symbol hyacinth
 
One sails upon an open sea
Here the moment passes slowly
This vast plane of memory
Glitters always, continually
 
O telic force, how convincing
Its suggestion, so tempting, too