Caryatid or Atlantid under Entablature, our World, a moment. A moment has no Thought in it, shorter Than neural synapse, Irreducible and yet seeks-- Fallen or not --an astragal Of light and life composing Souls in history, our inquiry: What are we? What can we be?
Our station, sunrise To sunrise, in relation To our star: right now We are in eastward motion-- All our land and ocean. Right now we are Fusing a billion tons Of hydrogen into Helium every other Second --our mother, The sun, mysterium Tremendum, what we are, Our star and what We may become.
Over leaves of Heaven, this Galaxy rises, Opens her arms And draws our Moon, Earth, This light and Spark of birth, Around a star-- This ark, on Which we are. We Are.
Our spirits rest in Trees, seeking time Between heat, cold, New, old --as autumn Nears its end and Earth, still our friend, In cooler repose, hangs Raindrops on a rose.
