Here are the tracks upon the sand Where stood last evening she and I — Pressed heart to heart and hand to hand; The morning sun has baked them dry.
I kissed her wet face — wet with rain, For arid grief had burnt up tears, While reached us as in sleeping pain The distant gurgling of the weirs.
"I have married him — yes; feel that ring; 'Tis a week ago that he put it on. … A dutiful daughter does this thing, And resignation succeeds anon!
"But that I body and soul was yours Ere he'd possession, he'll never know. He's a confident man. 'The husband scores,' He says, 'in the long run' ... Now, Dear, go!"
I went. And to-day I pass the spot; It is only a smart the more to endure; And she whom I held is as though she were not, For they have resumed their honeymoon tour.
The grey wind and the grey sea Tossing under the long grey sky…. My heart is lonelier than the wind; My heart is emptier than the sky, And beats more heavily Than the cold surge beneath the gull, Wheeling with his reiterant cry Of loneliness…All, all is lone: Alone!… And so am I.
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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.