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"Stand tall bipedal ape."



Stellar dust has settled.

It is green underwater now in the leaves

Of the yellow crowfoot. Its potentialities

Are gathered together under pine litter

As emerging flower of the pink arbutus.

It has gained the power to make itself again

In the bone-filled egg of osprey and teal.

One could say this toothpick grasshopper

Is a cloud of decayed nebula congealed and perching

On his female mating. The tortoise beetle,

Leaving the stripped veins of morning glory vines

Like licked bones, is a straw-colored swirl

Of clever gases.

At this moment there are dead stars seeing

Themselves as marsh and forest in the eyes

Of muskrat and shrew, disintegrated suns

Making songs all night long in the throats

Of crawfish frogs, in the rubbings and gratings

Of the red-legged locust. There are spirits of orbiting

Rock in the shells of pointed winkles

And apple snails, ghosts of extinct comets caught

In the leap of darting hare and bobcat, revolutions

Of rushing stone contained in the sound of these words.

Maybe the paths of the Pleiades and Coma clusters

Have been compelled to mathematics by the mind

Contemplating the nature of itself

In the motions of stars. The patterns

Of the starry summer night might be identical

To the structure of the summer heavens circling

Inside the skull. I can feel time speeding now

In all directions deeper and deeper into the black oblivion

Of the electrons directly behind my eyes.

Child of the sky, ancestor of the sky, the mind

Has been obligated from the beginning

To create an ordered universe

As the only possible proof

Of its own inheritance.

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