PHI: A POEM SHAPED LIKE THE GODDESS

Draw a line.
Choose a point on the line where the ratio
of the smaller section to the larger
is that of the larger to the whole.
Build rectangles out of these
segments tracing an ever
widening curve counter
clockwise from the corner
of each to the furthest
corner of another.
Now begin to dance,
a serpent
rotating your pelvis,
rising through the knees,
with back-handed sweep to scatter your seed, planting your
corn in rings, not rows, galaxies of swirling Chi, Fibonacci gestures
overflowing the ram’s horn of abundance
in every atom of your flesh, each pearl
on your rosary of chromosomes the sum
of the two generations before it until
you become a pineapple, a conch
holding the moon and tides,
the whorl of a hurricane,
the dizzy glance
of Goddess Inanna,
the space between her cheekbones
proportioned to the distance from chin to crown,
and the ratio of that to the pilgrimage of her breath
from the kum kum dot in her brow to the hollow between
her nipples, all her lineaments a ratio of wild triangular
darknesses between her thighs, rhythms that spiral
from the indeterminate decimal of her yoni,
musk of Sri Yantra, geometry of stars
in a spider’s web of intervals spun
from the silence between the notes
in a song of Sapho, golden ratio
of your inhalation to its sigh,
and of the incomprehensible
way life seemed when you
looked forward, to the way
it looks now
as you gaze back.