diaphany

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