~

the purest
possibilities,
in my hand lie;
kinetics in
miniature,
these what-can-be,
packages of dna;
manual of direction,
a manuscript precise,
compendium of
instruction;
these gathered
strands like
silken rope
not easily broken;
pre-known,
pre-programmed,
to be all that
can ever be
pre-planned,
pre-destined,
yet before
living must...
die!

carnation, corn
posey and peas,
happiness, hope,
love and peace,
in my palm
all possibilities,
e’en seeds
of change,
sown so long ago,
dead and buried,
warmed and watered,
nurtured, tended
sprouting now;
what will be...
may already
be determined
completely,
but...

their height,
their health,
their breadth of
wealth,
their depth of
beauty and
band of
fragrance...
these are all
within my hand
to cultivate
perfect,
and bring
to fruition;
like poetry
in motion,
all like seeds
within my grasp.

~

*post script.

"unless a grain of wheat falls
into the earth and dies,
it remains... alone;
but if it dies,
it bears much fruit."

and is this not the most exciting,
the most compelling part?
watching one’s seeds grow,
and bear much fruit...
the becoming of,
great beauty?