The smallest particle of a thing. No.
The only thing. Realizing so much
love, it glows. Seethes white hot. Explodes into
every thing. Cells of reason, heat, must touch
and unite. Some form fluid. Some light. Earth.
Us. Within our magnetic fields, when did
fear form, stall rhythm, reverse flow? Pained birth?
Learning of death? Walk through the forest. Sit
by the stream. Gaze out at the canyon. Does
the silent rock know? The rippling water?
Surely that great oak—as endless leaves grow,
the ancient bark having sensed faith, slaughter,
peace, laughter rise from ages of heathen
madness—knows. Shares essence of our breathing.
Roger Armbrust
May 17, 2008
