It didn't catch my eye;
my eye caught it,
a play of light and lift.
You see what you want, after all.
Seek and ye shall find.
Red, slung in an arc between two trees
it pulsed back and forth
in the sunlight that turned green gold.
I wanted to escape from the meeting
- it hung just beyond the threshold -
to lie in it, to swing in it,
hammock's ghost
suspended between transcendences
firm while soft, round while straight.
But there was no breeze.
The flow and slack
streamed through the red firehose
that happened to curve and dip
among the trees -
in this way only did the realm of fact catch my eye.
In the sway of fantasy it mattered not
and I was back on my back
in the red hammock on the slim balcony
overlooking Botafogo
and the threads of possibilities
and continuities
extending playfully and joyfully
into a
transcendence
as firm as possible for being so soft
as round as possible for being so straight
the web, the mesh, the arc, the arrow
hammock or hose
of me, on me, under me
restraining my pulsing thoughts
and releasing them into the sky,
a diaphany...
Next I looked,
the ghost was gone.
In its lack
I placed the seed
for this poem
Note: I, too, thought I had made up the word "diaphany," with the meaning of diaphanous epiphany. I'm proud to join a chorus willing this word and its meaning into wider understanding: http://www.stuartdavis.com/blog/diaphany
