Harmonies swim through me adjusting
Blood, flesh, breath, and the spaces in between,
Setting this whole organism to a new station
As old as protoplasm. For a moment I think
I have died and then awakened to a fresh dream
Of stalwart ants threading a black line across
Southern sand, carrying giant crumbs, leaving
Traces of a strange intelligence for future use.
I see. It is my story. It is the old story
Of landing on the maker’s knee, fluttering
A bit, wriggling nervously, waiting to hear the
Invitation. I yearn to enter the journey, marked
by ages upon ages of those who have waited for this Now.
Yawning cave and layered rock
Beckon me and still the moonrise
In a distant sky keeps the strains coming
That promise no end save in the
Beginning.
August 29, 2007
