from Presence

by Raymond Gibson

facts are facets are
things in the act


the truth speaks softly


as time saying amber
to the enduring sap


words come and go
like leaves like men


we the tree remain


time branches and roots
cause or effect braids


all the reticulated knots


the nerves rewiring in
a vast wounded brain


constellated in the sum
of each groping thought


bent toward what light


what faint truth said
through its ringed echo


by its nested metaphors


listen the wind blows
clear petals of sky


while a twig writes
upon air beyond ours


that we must change


so many bells peal
but they aren't time


words are not truth


the leaf isn't autumn
but its painted sign


its absence isn't winter
but clocks' stray hands


set to truth's rhythm


a pendulum of moon
ratchets off the days


we aren't there yet


seeds of each other
at a different pace


facets of all masks
converging to a face


facts are times efface