Egg from the bird skull
Laid on your small head's nest
Pure and smooth and eye white -
A vast treasure in smallness; all of you.
Slowly I turn it over, sense its raw
Perfection like a universe containing
Everything you are petrified a millisecond
After its own big bang, press the form
Into my thumb's nest-flesh.
More slowly its sharp dent fades,
Like you going from me.
Gravity at work, and other forces
Which will make you later, and -
I see a fleck on the half-formed root -
The last force in this first blood.
No comments:
Post a Comment