The Space of Shape

A mirror of the poem "The Shape of Space" by Samuel Moon

Above the standing earth the standing

buildings in the quick night lights, all night

lamp and bench in the standing street,

bright eyes stare in the ceasing sky;

in the evening all the whispering doors,

feet that glide or shuffle on brilliant sidewalks,

people reserved and deranged, day stoppers

revealed by night and light with wake,

black souls on the cloudy intersections leaning,

all boys and girls over the city,

raucous or relaxed, their mouths or ears

slipping apart and uniting, windows

dividing the glances, and all the backs

on all the red tracks resting, resting;

everything in space and time is still.

 

And sitting always inside of shape

in that outer shape where the heart rests,

the time-weary question, “What is the shape

of all this raucous and calm?”

and the mind in dialogue replies,

“These are the cunning forms of hate,

hate makes them cunning.”

                      “Hate,” says the heart,

“is the mind’s name for the space of shape.”