*
Particles, Infinitesimally Small
Bonding Repelling
Repeatedly
Creating Matter
As we know it
Us, as we Are
Matching Composition
Of Stars and all Manner of Life
Reproducing Endlessly, Dying
Disintegrating,
something else takes our place
Life Rolling Into Itself
Tirelessly
*
Can we stop a Moment
Take a look, Shudder
As we Marvel in the Redundancy
Of our Minds?
*
Why Are We Here?
*
Art Work by Yaron Rosner
Erasing what is carved in Flesh
Takes decades if it happens at all
So much concealing,
So much conscious Effort
So much Reassurance,
Smoothing of tissue
******
Erasing what is carved in flesh
involves Rewiring,
painstakingly
Repetitive,
Tedious and Trying
So much tripping
Struggling
with Love & Belonging
******
Erasing what is carved in Flesh
Is for the Hearty,
Those who when Necessity
calls, see no Choice
But to be Who they Are,
Come what May
******
Art Work by Yaron Rosner
We are Reminded
we are but Carriers
that our children come Through us
not From us
Born of our Bodies
so hard to Fathom
their Well being
not entirely our Responsibility
No matter the Rational
championing personality, Independent Perspective
Free Will-
Deep down
in the very Fiber of our Flesh
We will Not let go
of what originated in our Bowel
Cannot but Feel bound
to their Existence
No matter the reasoning:
“They are their Own”
from the Cavernous depths
a Primeval utterance intones:
“They Are Mine”
Ancient Mesopotamian Seated Goddess
I could wander, pacing
the places I walked before,
knowing them again and for the first time
I could call your name,
hear it slip off my tongue,
whisper through grasses
I could forever search your scent
that I would find here then there
Instead, I sit by the quiet of rippling water
in which I see myself smiling
I kicked off my shoes
which sank to the bottom
of the blueness before me, barefoot,
I wander with my spirit
Ceased measuring my life
in kilometers, stopped tracing
my well being with changing backdrops
The only one now is the sun greeting me
and taking leave, over this great expanse
of ever-changing liquid
My heart stands still, content
to know itself, and you,
you are everywhere, in everything
Photograph by Nick Zungoli