Preamble

I whirl within the wherefores of my wonder

still coming at me are the satellites, the comets, the debris —

celestial collisions

I am at home here, though my longing knows no boundaries now, no aim

knows no deliverance from thought, from search for meaning

would my soul took over

would my skin shirked not the touch, would I felt this fear of losing were not real, this holding on, this

need for explanations, this

reluctance

ever to surrender to what is: what is this if not ice not gas not water and not energy, what is

the reason

reason holds me, holds me in or back; then back from what, back where, back to what end?

is there an end?

There’s no beginning, then how is there

reason?


< THE ICE KING — 7: The Beginning

Neptune >


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Preamble

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