Tiny Thread



A planetoid was about to be born in
some fairly distant galaxy from ours
invisible to our eyes due to stellar interference or
existing just beyond an obstructive lip of space-time curve
or sheer distance past every known patch of stars

and its mother star its solar womb was enduring all the
mysterious explosive cyclotronic gas-bang convulsive
combustions such procedures entail much as

ours when our mothers are about to give birth though we may be
ultimately less chunky after all even so

there’s a mortal similarity to our own molecular
individuation in space our coming-to-birth in this world rather than
maintaining immateriality as our lifestyle eternally
remaining always out-of-view and at one entirely with
the Unseen in simple splendor rotating among its motionless
or torrential machinations previous to all
tangible existence wherever in our universe it might
take place presided over by The Guide of all the worlds
Who brings to birth and annihilates with compassionate aplomb

And this planetoid scrunched itself closer and more
protectively to its mother’s molten core as if to
say it didn’t want to go didn’t want
expulsion from that Garden Paradise into the

tragic vicissitudes of space and finite
deteriorations of time

It wanted to remain forever at one with its
literal mother ship and moon around with
blinkless eyes gazing out thoughtfully at the
flare-ups and fiery displays and flashes-in-the-pan
fireworks in lugubrious slow motion that go on every
nanosecond in outer and inner space itself in an
inner place that had no part yet of space in that it
didn’t yet independently exist as we do with all our
cleverness of mobilized hands and feet and motorized mischief
nosing around in snoopy corners of the universe in all our
endless curious or breathless quests

It longed to avoid a lifespan and just stay
atomically pure and undifferentiated

But the Decree was out the die was cast
and after explosion after explosion with true
astral regurgitations and labor pains too seismic to
recount our little planetoid spewed out intact into
space and began its lively orbit as well as its own
particular rotation around its infantile axis

and ice formed and rocks cracked and crevices opened and
angels sang and great cosmic chords sounded heard by
every shivering atom of existence however far or near in our own
mortal beings each spark registering even though deeply
unbeknownst to us
as we open our mouths with their glistening tongues and
glittering teeth to

speak or sing of


Tiny thread in the weave without which
the whole would come unwoven

(from Cooked Oranges, soon to be published)

Categories: Poems