Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Late February has found me today, thoughtful
and it's brought along a surprising sun
warming the dirt, the house, and my spirits

I am linked to the earth somehow, perhaps it's
the makers clay inside which still sings out
metal flakes to His lodestone, sextant to His celestial orb

Of old, the Greeks believed a man
was made of a handful and a handful of the stuff,
two amphorae, separate fired jars each filled with clay

That before walking through the door of life,
Zeus scooped and smashed~ good, ill, indifferent
forming a man, a woman out of indiscriminate mix

The Bible teaches that we're dust and back will revert
sinew and bone, muscle and mind, back to soil
if we ask any worm to confirm they'll call true

More than this! Something links me to earth.
not the farm, nor plough but the soul
to these grains of timeworn soil, tumbled, used, recharged.

Perhaps God in his building of this sphere
asked a little of us here (not in Eremite, but in loam!)
and we replied and in answering built in our pre-exsistant zeal

"What? Preposterous! Matter wielded by spirit?
Impossible! Where would they dust their hands?" and yet,
my heart sings at the thought I helped all this take shape

The curve of the moon, the reach of the pine
that soft chuckle burbling in the brook
the leap of a salmon, the battering of the waves

God's requisition of sculptors and artisans
his enumeration, written on stone with flaming finger
The tally great, the workers willing. They labored

And the result! This handiwork! The millions years of
building, the burnishing, the sewing. All to please our God.
That Director of our greatest symphonic movement yet.

I suppose there was a job for us all, some rehearsed the
music of the world, others painted the sky with stars
coruscant in immensity of space, small to mortal eyes

others still went on, designing the color of an egret's eyes
the song of a piping frog, the swirl of the coral's fronds.
He was the inspiration for it, telling us about it before we labored

Encouraging us as we built, commending us as he lit it
joyous as he hung it in the sky. And I still feel that joy
long separated from Him, my veiled eyes and unfetterer'd heart

Reaching out past knowledge and proof and science to
that space between the molecules of carbon
where the spirit of dirt, safely lodged, snugly resides--still smiling


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