Lump

 

It's not complicated.
I am a lump of sod

bathing in moonlight.
Why am I here?

Just to embody
sparkling fragments

of your ancestor's bones,

last year's leaf mulch,
next year's daffodils,
dinosaur musk,

particles of stars.

So much happens when I

return to stillness.

But there is no choice

and none of it has anything

that could possibly be called

"meaning."

It is all a dance of ancient quarks,
each an infinitesimal bundle
of waves, waves of nothing
but awareness yearning

to be aware of itself
in a dust mote, in a supernova,
through a rune of dew

etched by a sunbeam
on a dragonfly's wing.

I am the silence
of the milky way

churning in its cauldron 

of dark energy,
pouring into the hollow
of each atom in this
lump of sod.

It's not complicated.

Return to stillness

where so much happens
and there is no choice.

Image from Popular Science