Cleaving, leaving, interweaving,
travelling through space and time.
Briefly staying, random straying,
plumb the depth and heights sublime.

Restless spirit, mind to steer it,
will that traces worldlines,
strangely merging, new emerging,
wave ascends and soon declines.

Process flowing, patterns growing,
nothing stays quite like it was.
Down the snakes and up the ladders,
cheer the gain and mourn the loss.

Night and day, winter and summer
places change like ebb and flow.
Does there, past this steady drummer,
some ascending spiral grow?

Is the Holy Grail light shining
at some far Omega point?
Is there Being past Becoming?
will some Home the Path anoint?

Could be just a path down-winding,
ending in a pit of ash.
Life and death keep us reminding
how ascent precedes a crash.

But most likely flux eternal
churns out the fractal sets,
joining up the swings diurnal
in pervasive, tangled nets.

All becoming and extending,
process is the final word.
No beginning and no ending,
Moebius-like silken cord.