Clinamen

The sound of sight keeps visions in the brain
Whose old refrain again, again

Is the blood of the heart (just droplets,
Fits and starts

In their cool medium,
The inside of the outside’s cool).

What is body?
Natural or lived?
The natural collides;
The lived
Decides.

Collision is decision
(The collision of decision
Whose double way is the delay
Of reasons, without a cause except
The soul of thought).

So the body must be its own grace
Both in motion and before the face
Of soul.

But what still reasons in the crater of the mind?
Is it the form these causes take
From which the body was
Spontaneously born?

The atoms fall like rain.
It is only a chance
That knows its chance,

It is only the collision that decides.