No book that turns a whirling rhetoric

No book that turns a whirling rhetoric,
no nonsense narrative, no set of chapters,
no plot diagram, no storytelling arc,
no situation spelled out on the canopy;

no library that's organized by systems,
no categories, no dense encyclopedia,
no set of volumes alphabetized backwards,
no deciphered graphemes in some order;

no artifact can ever begin to render
the drama of her sense, the creative spiral
of her existence which remains mysterious.

For poets have spent centuries attempting
to write her out or put her into forms,
but none exhaust her confused infinity.