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THERE IN NOWHERE
By Quentin Smith
This sky in which nothing quietly flows
Does not move, but does not rest upon
The graves below . . .
Softly refracted at noon, there in
The mystery of whitening flame,
The vanishing instant, the pristine now, is born once again.
A goal of someone’s relentless brooding is attained,
Awakening within the presence, the heraldic unknown.
Through the plenum of being, sun floods sun.
Sheer air, sheer blue -- flashing, transfiguring
The waterless, the groundless
Under the foam.
Over the waves, over the air, time diminishes
Is it only Light that remains?
Time focuses yellow spotlights on my eyes,
The light of present time that never passes away.
Days disappear in the secondless instant.
No longer can it be discerned
If spaces fill the emptiness.
In the Near the foam-flocks vanish;
The Far erupts. All is lost from distance—
The effable fades in the placeless
Where nothing points, where it is not said
The Trans-splendid is and is not There.
Written 1979, 2002
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