It is a comma on a
page of night sky
separating all that was from all that will
be,
a pause in the event horizon that is
today,
the slender moment that is the here and
now.
It shines on tall silver grass marking a
path
through the peeling parchment of birch
trees
and winding ever east through sacred
clearings
so that a pilgrim may stop, worship, and
bow.
He takes a step, and then another and
another
into a cosmos that he writes with syntax
borrowed from a grammar of possibility.
He is author, scholar, and avatar from a
new world,
lines from a work in progress lyrically
unfurled.
~William Hammett
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