Well, this might be interpreted as a poem about reincarnation. But really, it’s the process I go through every morning before I make it to work.
We are fired into life with an urgent longing. -Cloud of Unknowing
Spun out from that great ball of blue yarn,
I catch a trailing thread.
Winding it, braiding it around my wrist,
I knot the end, and snip it off.
The free end makes magnificent soundless waves,
and slowly flattens as the blue ball spins it back to itself.
And I fall, and I land, attenuated.
There are others here,
fired out of life by some urgent longing,
now entombed in something like steatite.
Still others sit cross-legged,
clutching handfuls of something like hope.
I’m six times lighter here.
And on this lesser light,
have the time to train my eyes to look directly into the sun.
I know if I turn I will see Centaurus,
and am tempted.
But my piece of braided blue string,
recalls for me Eros and Isthmus,
where nearness and distance dwell.
And I wait with these newly blinded eyes,
to be fired back in.
Yet my God is from of old, working salvation in the earth. -Hebrew poet