I sit with my feet dangling into a circle 
whose edge I rest on 
as if it were a window sill.

From here the earth looks ancient. 
It’s pull mothered by the curvature
 of spacetime. 
The spring blossoms curving 
when they fall.

Our fate floating out there: intangible–
outside this circle where my toes abide 
Our fate floating in us: tangible–
The place in which my torso resides 

The debate seems fresh unlike the sagely soil. My limbs alive –life giving life– emerging like the pistil from a bellflower 
unconcerned with philosophy.