Rib of the Earth, a granite dome protrudes
     From desert sand. Its shadow arches high
Against the night. Above it, stars exude
     Their spidery threads of light to web the sky,
Building a dome concentric with the first:
     A conjugate mirror of the curving rock.
Both shells stand parallel, but each reverse
     In substance from its twain. To interlock
These disparate realms would seem to be a feat
     Impossible. Can Heaven marry Earth?
How may Ideal consort with the Concrete?
     What child would such unnatural union birth?

To answer, look more closely at the edge
     Between the land and air. Atop this arc
One tiny figure stands upon a ledge,
     Tensing to jump. An angel? Beast? The dark
Obscures its face. In which direction will
     It leap? Upward, to add a shy new voice
Of meaning to the night? Or down the hill
     Again? A universe awaits the choice.

Tuesday, April 03, 2001 at 05:46:36 (EDT)

^z - 2001-04-03

TopicPoetry

(correlates: Appliances All the Way Down, Face Plant, ArpaNetwork, ...)