Author: Seth Jani

Seth Jani resides in Seattle, WA and is the founder of Seven CirclePress (www.sevencirclepress.com). His own work has appeared throughout the small press in such places as The Foundling ReviewThe Hamilton Stone ReviewHawai`i Pacific Review, Gingerbread House and Gravel. More about him and his work can be found at www.sethjani.com

Web: twitter.com/DrunkCatPoet

He knocked at a door in mid-winter.
The darkness slept around him.
Giant ghosts roared in the frost.
He did not know what waited
At that half-lit threshold.
What spirit! What gesture! What light!
There was a moon-shaped slit
In the wooden apparatus.
A keyhole with no end!
Through it he saw a cosmos dancing.
He saw a world flicker out of being.
He saw giant jowls that consumed the stars,
A lovely womb birthing suns.
He stumbled back, falling lightly
In the snow, wild and astonished.
Around him, nothing out of place
For an evening in December.
Just a bit of wind and darkness.
A traveler. A stranger’s door.

The hermetic music
Coming in from a garden
Lost underwater
Five millenniums
Before this day.
And we were born
To hear again
Fragments of its playing.
It goes on as though
No time existed.
It goes on though
We have lost our ears.
I want to find again
The isolation
In which these notes
Are gathered.

The continent of ultimate listening
In which the song coheres.