The outside is much too large
for a Mysterium to encompass.
The inside is way too deep
for plunging down to fibers.
Something in-between must suffice.
A little whirlwind gathering into itself
waves of rising melody and becoming
a thing of dark-colored moments.
That will do!
Even he was circumscribed
by time and a cage of fine bones.
Even so, Scriabin made abysses
large enough for hues of dreaming,
deep enough to plunge and rise,
stable enough for a brief transit
to the aural house of old Eros.