a hole in the fabric of the world


a hole opens in the fabric of the familiar world
it’s the size of a soccer ball
within it swirl snakes of pure colour and energy – no
not snakes – snaking swirlings

it is luminous
it has immense depth
it allows itself to be perceived –
somehow, by it-self
for a perceiver isn’t present


first in Winchester, then in Thalheim, then in Hiesville,
then in Wellington, now in Urangan

and ever and only right here, now
in this timeless Presence


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