We live
somewhere
between the aether
and the mud.
Dwelling on the
dirt of the lives
we inhabit,
abiding as a “we”
in the shelters of
our being.
The simple and glorious
transcendence
of the molecules
we learn to call
thought or feeling; and
sometimes even desire,
haunt us with
meanings
we are not always
given to understand.
And yet,
we persist
in the mysterium tremendum
as waifs looking for porridge
each and every day.
Something small
for our bowls;
a tiny morsel for
which we beg.
Angels
bound to carcasses
with a call to
wonder and awe.
And, in all the
fanfare of quarks and quasars
as they perform their
murmurations all about us,
we are given
small moments of pause
in which we can -
as we close our
eyes - drink in the
clambering vastness of
the Yosemite Valley
or the damp loamy humus
of Great Redwood Sequoias
or the sidewinding curves
of the Delaware River.
Only sight,
only smell;
leave the understanding
for another day.
For today, just leave room
for your center to hold all
it consumes in stillness
and repose;
chewing on it slowly,
so as not to choke
on the grandeur.
