Web of Love

In and between weird tangles

of a strange and beautiful mathematics,

flowers open to greet life. Unabashedly and

packed with a wonder so fiery.

Billions and trillions of eons,

spirals and cycles of time

devoid of name and understanding:

an evolution of light and dark

that leads to this exact moment.

Birth has been invented, that of

twisting tendril of bony

branches that reach forever

into the sky; that of wet mammalian

hearts pumping a mysterious

substance, dyed in the latticework

of a living, breathing star;

birth unknown and occurring in

damp dank cold spaces, out of

the radiance of the sun.

A miracle.

Either way, in all ways, the

unseen product of a diffuse,

and sometimes rich, network

connects these deep wells of

consciousness. These vibratory

pieces of one, unbound and free,

all the manifestations of love.

Rounded pebbles under the earth's

crust, softly hewn and rounded by time

accompany the old bones of a once curious bird,

cracked and calcified, the traces of

her broken eggs long consumed

by wormy loam, crushed and

riddled through the curve of gravity.

Mysterious configurations, settling geomancy

of divine proportions

link through electricity, through

magnetism that shifts through

rocks and water, through light,

through the aimless floating of

an icy anomaly in the depths of space,

lost in travel long before wood — that

dead yet vibrantly alive collection,

that amalgamation of cellulose and lignin,

the water and will of a seed to grow from

just air and light — learned to rock and sway,

giving

surrendering

to storms that lasted centuries.

Ah, so mysterious! This particle-wave suspension

of the now moment, a moving twilight empty of

seeking and finding, yet replete with

heavenly discovery.

The dream plays on, a gentle gratitude — under the watch

of grand universes wiser and kinder, as benevolent as the

soft "plop!" of a raindrop. What fun!

What a web of love.