The pointing brilliance
on and off from the river’s flow, star stabs, patterns appearing and rearranging.
The pointing brilliance arrows into this eye yet seems to see something far beyond me.
Patterns akin to the light through trees on the distant hill. Flash of wing, a form rearranging and appearing and vanishing. Eyes akin to the wing. Senses fleetingly sure, quick fictioning of purpose, this flash and ripple of light suggesting a search.
Surrender to the searching for a ferment of finding; what could possibly be? Walk the hive, honey the brew. A humming to pull me along the river bank. A purpose on wing, drone rising through water falling, a wisp of grassing friction flicking through.
My pockets are holes. Footprints trail after my stillness. Each hole steps into sand and strategy and memory. The complexity of our smallness pierced by moving reflections. The fleeting persistence of beauty.
Is this light a perception of fundamental relation? This vibration which holds the gurgle of river, the tremor of watery skin; this vibration which lifts the impossible rotation of wing, the song nectar, the jewellery of powders.
What made this vibration, this shaking point of entry? Where is the reaction which gestates electricity? I hold out against the brilliance, calling down my ability for blindness. A stumbling moment is made, footprints smear a quick twisting motion over rock. There is an incline, a waterfall, and pressing through trousers the nettles are rosette scalpels. Light buried in these plants is a pointing brilliance and, lanced by shadow, I am a pierced specimen.
Resistance, the material allowing or disallowing of free passage to smaller materials. The smaller materials also resist, they are also passed through. Each element is a way through for another element, smaller and smaller until elements bequeath particles and on until particles are caught in the act of birthing principles.
Principles also offer up resistance. The vibration of some unknown quality squeezing within possibilities generates a pointing brilliance called light and against this refulgence we squash shut our eyes. We fall into the embrace of a shadow and, now, glazed by honey sounds, we are one purpose sealed to one exploration.
The search is a glittering string dragged swiftly through the night. A dream opens its eyes on a hill, above the waterfall, below the sun.
The pointing brilliance