Centres: morning poem

About not to get stuck on one thing in ma, is without question:

Your heart to fathom, as one would, from deepest chaos, to celestial bursting,

Me a spinning top, not taking advice anymore –

No understanding, philosophy discarded, only loving:

Your heart

Is my pattern flowing

An example I thought the question my instructor asked, why does there have to be a line

Down the centre of my struggling?

Then if, fighting you the line disappears, reappears again uncompassed, unsurpassed,

Always winning,

What chains me to you – one flowing thru space – but loving?

All this patterned time and thought that passes

You’d think I’d forget about you, g,
Tho, without moving thru space,

You’re pillow centred on that hospital bed made –

And then, you encompass,

Actually everywhere

Uncentred, unpatterned, unformed, model of all my portraits, the line drawn –

(What became of me? I’d ask you to shape me)

Depth of feeling in love,

Moves I to my body, even

And touches my soul, which leaps, here to there, back again, pattern in a rhythm of ma…

(I’m fighting the goddess herself)

How catch a meaning in space, but by spinning round your name in question?