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Movingness precedes, but wakens into,

Moving, moving.  Moving moves a bit

Ahead or up or down or back around

To almost just the place where moving rose

From quiet movingness, unasked to rise,

Or maybe elsewhere, or around a point.

Describing, then, for you (because it takes

Less time and lazy me prefers the lesser

Work efficient language lets me use)

This moving, moving, moving, we agree

To call this iteration that appears

To us consistent to our eyes by name:

Movement.  Movement then continues moving

Unaware of us or our agreement.

God was born, that day, all innocent

Of words of ours.  Silence moving, resting,

Merely moving: movingness Becomes.

Such moving causes purpose in itself

Rather than a purpose prompting it.

Always never claiming names we give,

Moving gently passes names before we speak.

Our silence tries to keep up pace with this,

The free and moving movingness eluding

Every given name’s encumbrance.  Move,

But always only after movingness.

# 

poem Copyright © 2005 by Dennis R. Mannisto

photo Copyright © 2004 by Keith R. Mannisto

(photo shot ~1 pm, 16 Oct. 2004 along Lake Superior)

My related pages include an essay, an academic-ish remark about movingness, math, and A.N. Whitehead, and an old, muddled ramble.