Tessera (iv)

— a tragedy

Aether is the light bright blue that is always above it all.

Four humors make man,

Four elements form the earth.

A definite theory strung,

A giant guitar,

Goaded by the gods.

The fabric of reality strums.

An hour is an era, a month?

Sympathetically, symphonetically,

It makes sense, four quarters make

A whole, so it all goes

Four is vital to the Soul.

Gods, they hate this poem.

-

And the color blue.

Not turquoise, not lapis,

But cerulean

Lagoons, pools —

Perfect hues

Croon as refractions of

Two prisms blow unto me

A vision of the sea.

You there! Gust of fresh air,

You taste like outside,

Crisp and clean.

Sample some yellow-purple pear,

You know, you been down there,

Inhaled sweet prairie air.

Breathed breezy syllables,

Wispy words were wonderfully whispered.

An illustration of illusive care,

Oh, to be bright

As air—

Fuels desire,

Higher and higher.

Immolation, pyre…

I’ve dedicated too many a stanza,

To purification, to fire.

That’s quite enough,

We won’t foray into

The earth.

-

The fifth element, ether,

Cannot be touched nor seen.

Supersedes reality,

A realm of silken strings,

Supplanting fantasy,

Undomesticated dreams.

Ether seams

Together celestial-terrestrial,

But before the

Two kiss, Nyx licks,

Her dusky lips stick.

Mortal-god,

Demi-daughter of Soul, so it

All goes, Hedone’s shadow drapes

The path.

Aether and Eros stem from one tree,

Accursed, Hellenistic family.

Yours is the purest

Between either hand, ether

Snaps, strung like dollar-store rubber bands.

How grand he was to hold.

Adore and abhor.

How I despise this poem.

-

Four humors make the one,

Four elements from the earth.

An infinite theory sings,

Psyche’s symphonies,

Goaded by the gods,

The fabric of reality hums.

An hour is an era, a month?

An eternity?

The path to purgatory.

©Kira Mungai, 2022.