A jet flashed in the post-noon sun
As though an atom split;
Or in that instant did it fly
Between dimensions and thus shun
This world for that of spirit?
In
the bare April trees a pair
Of
blue tits seeking insects bouncedBetween branches ceaselessly;
So, particles with a fecund flare
Artlessly nourish Being’s founts,
Dancing creatively.
Too
grand: rather, Icarus’ hand,
Touching
the sun, exploded inPresumption; wreckage fell,
Past the blind-to-death tits, to land
In shattered skeins, dissolving in
Matter’s ebb and swell.
====================
© June
2013