THE ZERO THAT IS ALL

If these lesser things are subsumed within the Good­—

These corrupt shapes: desk, mirror or tree— ­

The falsely transliterated, strangely planed

Creatures of eyesight and the sentient bones

(Themselves in the web of the spider), then all times

Are poses of the one actor, Time: he

Who is ape of eternity, and the acorn neglected among leaves

Encircles, now in this very heartbeat, a forest

Of oaks that have no horizon; and the still white egg

On the tablecloth in the hush of morning is turbulent

With the cackle of a universe of chickens;

And still it is hot noon on the sea Tethys

Where the protoplasmic slime begets Aphrodite

Whose belly is history till the moon falls

And the last spore flames like Andromeda.