The Ancient Modern
One Question Asked Three Ways / Joshua Alan Sturgill
My eye is a stenographer; conversation
binds me to the Sun. I measure
by Moon-lengths the cosmos — as Elisha
stretching himself over the body of death,
hand to swollen hand, eye to milky eye:
Am I not also a Geometer?
My ear is a reginaphone, silver-wreathed,
pierced with music’s apertures. Because I sing
in company with compass and abacus, because
I sculpt chaos with the tool of ritual, thus
She welcomes me to Her inmost rooms:
Am I not also Wisdom’s lover?
Where is a market for powdered minerals,
for circles squared? Before they bloom,
I sketch the forms of the flowers
of the Coming Age. Waves of the
oscilloscope extend from my fingertips:
Am I not also an Artisan?
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