in number four
the vortex of the sacred union
the middle
the start
the end

for that which I feel cannot be broken
for that which I know I cannot bend
will not be torn or discolored or stained

each fiber discrete and perfect here in this tiny sun
this heaving thumping thing just cannot be contained

and I surrender
see my palms trembling white
circles hide my face

I have no song within me for this fight
this mystic battle where I can never do what
is right
by me

so number four dilates, the gap closes
for me
and for my peace
and for my grace