the beginning is always the hardest

wondering if what you see is paradox or truth

lost in the patterns of wisdom and youth

of whether violins scream an octave above “c”

in the dawn above this fugacious sea.

.

eons of prayer found in lost reverie

and sometimes we wonder if the doppelgangers live

and more than just breathe

.

staring into the looking glass, i wonder if i am

sui generis and willing to forgive

the mistakes of science and the ineluctable myth—

where is the hope and where is the fall

and geometry's everything and nothing at all

.

and all at once asking

do you remember eden?