the enso

"finding God" by marlowe

the poem

Beauty bewitches via math,
inside algorithms: the fractal
that defines a forest, the syncopation
weaving through jazz, the clamor
of cathedral bells at full peal,
precisely ringing pattern from chaos.
It begins in dissonance but soon
resolves as silence
punctuates the resonance
like the slow-motion dip
a pendulum sweeps
as it passes center. Like any other
syntax, it suggests meaning, suggests
a divine order rarely replicated.

the enso

"Just before the pregnant pause gives birth" by marlowe

the opinion

My Enso Muse went MIA around mid January. After several days, I searched the darkest, furthest corners of the kitchen pantry. I scoured closets. I peeked behind each dusty bookcase.

Nada.

I almost considered filing a Missing Person Report.

She left me a jar of cookies. Asked me not to despair.

In the meantime, I find myself wandering the house while cradling my pen and notepad. I continue to meditate dutifully. I fantasize that she will decide to return unannounced, like always, whether as a delicate surprise or …

I wait. I sit in my desert. There are no desserts here.