Going to Heaven! I don't know when— Pray do not ask me how! Indeed I'm too astonished To think of answering you! Going to heaven! How dim it sounds! And yet it will be done As sure as flocks go home at night Unto the shepherd's arm!
Perhaps you're going too! Who knows? If you sh'd get there first Save just a little place for me Close to the two I lost! The smallest "robe" will fit me And just a bit of "crown", For you know we do not mind our dress When we are going home—
I'm glad I dont believe it For it w'd stop my breath— And I'd like to look a little more At such a curious Earth! I am glad they did believe it Whom I have never found Since the mighty autumn afternoon I left them in the ground.
When along the pavement, Palpitating flames of life, People flicker round me, I forget my bereavement, The gap in my life's constellation, The place where a star used to be.
Nay, though the pole-star Is blown out like a candle, And all the heavens are wandering in disarray, Yet when pleiads of people are Deployed around me, and I see The street's long, outstretched milky-way!
When people flicker down the pavement I forget my bereavement.
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Track 1
How this picture is made
What a fractal is
A fractal is a shape that keeps its pattern when you look closer. Coastlines, trees, shells, and weather do this. The large form and the small form are the same kind of thing. A poem can be drawn that way. The shape of the whole comes from the shape of the lines.
Primunia is the name for the source of that order: the pattern under the pattern, already there in a tree, a shell, and a verse.
How the boundary is drawn
The number under the picture is the poem constant. It is read from the build of the lines: their length, how uneven they are, the size of the stanzas, the share of vowels, and the way the lines end. A new word moves the number when it changes that build. The same poem always gives the same number.
Drawn on its own, that number sits in a quiet part of the plane, and most poems would look like the same soft disk. So the number is carried outward along its own direction until it meets the edge of the Mandelbrot set, where the shape turns sharp. The picture is the Julia set of that meeting place.
Each point on the canvas is folded again and again by one small rule. Points that stay near the rule form the dark interior. Points that rush away become the coloured bands. The hue comes from the poem constant, and the brightest bands turn toward gold. Change the length of a line, the stanza, or the vowel share, and both the number and the picture move.
What the branching signifies
Branching draws the poem as a tree. Each turn follows a line, and every smaller branch repeats that pattern. A longer line reaches farther. The letters at the start of a line bend the next turn. A higher share of vowels opens the branches wider.
The trunk takes its colour from the poem constant and warms toward gold at the tips. When the poem has more than one stanza, gold forks leave the trunk. Each fork is a stanza beyond the first, up to three. The tree divides where the poem divides. One stanza remains a single trunk.