Precession of Those Violin Clefs (Or Why Geometry Negates Emptiness of Space)

 

Ever rising as they go or come

with heels up high,

striking thus a note,

even the soundless

tremulous treble,

Trismegistus,

“three times

greatest”

spiraled clef—

set to undo—open up

new melodies

 

not unlike when it comes to

the transfixing sight

of eyes melded in one lock

with that lock itself

turning into its own

allowing key,

 

and, in that elation,

the unheard-of

forges its own hearing

and the unseen yet

makes time itself

both agape and still

and yet seeded,

enraptured, rich—

like the flesh of fruit.