By Roy Doughty
Written 7/06/07

Amid an orchestral surround of chlorophyll,
Great swaths of green, of blue, wide washes of dawning red,
Among the gem-white specs of apertures,
Are squiggles and streaks of other entities,
Selves almost forgotten, gnats, moths, bees,
Those aerialists as ephemeral as our thoughts,
As persistent as the imprint of emotion.
And so, this morning, in the immense transparency
Of space, and its sweet yeses, we can see,
As if with millions of eyes, the actual
Sparkle of our bodies, the mighty dissemination
Of who we are: the human and its neural net
Of species, the Earth as swarm and womb of
Touch and be.  How small the domain of a name
And its legacy, how large the perpetual genetic
Conflagration.  From this mother, this presence,
Every life is born.  She is a child in a hovel,
Lying on rags, a child with child, in labor,
Awaiting deliverance.  And we, we see her vulnerable
Magnificence, her fragile and tenacious potency,
And stooping, we enter the knot of her infinite womb.

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.