The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Sunday, 4 December 2011
where I put a word down
and then another
where night and day
amount to the same thing
where 'no beginning/no end'
makes as much sense
as anything else
where the boulders take the hit
of photons with
all of themselves
where rain and sun marry me
to earth air water
where I give up my name
where I am another glyph
*Alasdair Paterson's new book on the governing of empires has each poem title beginning with 'on', a motif I borrow for the title of this one.
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