Net Of Indra

Net Of Indra – Sonnet When Indra casts Her net of splendid treasure, Of energy and shy dark matter made, The stars take up their place at intersection Of the lovely fibers no slow loom has made.

These strings of gems make up a trail of wonder, But one of many that could come to be.

They vanish at the tick of their December, But time is homeless in eternity.

The mesh of Her horizons holds the spindle That Ghandi used to twirl within his hands.

Her vast creation never seems to dwindle But in a spacious rose Her bloom expands.

When all existence fails through spatial thinning, Her provenance of time is just beginning.

Carl Estrin