Soft angles

A softening of old geometry. 

Like the rounding of a harsh angle

I stare into the object before me. 

Slowly the naming quiets. 

A deeper knowing unfolds. 

It transitions from a name

To colors and shapes

And ultimately, to potential. 

It’s left looking back at me. 

Gazing at it, feels so vulnerable 

What does it think of me

How is it so old, so wise

I reach out to touch it

But it’s already touching me

Within and beyond

Parallel lines

We move through time reflecting one another. 

Here for this moment, seeing through the names. 

Seeing into the soul of the universe.