The song of songs

The song of songs would involve the leaps and bounds of sound, Echoing upon itself, spinning all around. The words expressed would hold the flames of mind, Like points that oscillate through space, intertwined, Every escape of space in tunnels that wind, On peaceful arabesques, carefully designed, Measured in the study of snowflakes falling slow and fine, At the very moment of love’s first decline. Beyond the bursts of disappointments, kept from the warmest memory, Beyond all studies of thermodynamics’ mystery, For they would freeze the gaze of those who pass, Shocked by hands that loosen, slipping through like glass, Hands sketched toward vanishing points, nearly conic and tight, Folded over thoughts that linger in the light, As people hold their breath in moments of sheer delight. Perhaps this is the song of songs indeed, Of uncoupled verses, infinitely cleaved, Cut and slashed like bread tossed to familiar birds in need, Or slices of apple savored with cheese across the cosmic seas, Beyond the Milky Way, past the spinning discs’ endless speed, Far beyond the last stellar fringe, where dreams and wonder lead.