Time Lattice



The frames of time and inner space

Are not a grid at all

But spiral, spiral, outward, up

And carry us along

From Africa we crawled and ran

We strode, this conquering race

Our home, a continent of curve

A sequence pattern stamped

Into our very world it seems.

For everywhere the spiral shows

In nautilus, pinecone

The lengths of finger bones

Petals of the rose

The vortex of ram’s horns

Vitruvian with his span

A latticework of numbers all

A signpost leading home.

About suzanawylie

Suzana Wylie is the not-very-pseudo pseudonym of Susan Wylie Wilson, because let's face it, there are lots of Susan Wilsons around, and as an author, I want readers to find ME and not the bazillions of others. I've been writing all my life - since I learned to hold a pencil anyway - and can't NOT write. Other people have to breathe to live; I have to write.
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