A Wishbone Admiring A Pomegranate

 

When Astronomy came down the timberline
The hatchling thoughts of Homo ergaster
Stood upright to teethe on the Heavens
Sirius. Luna, and Mars walked among our ancestors
Picking up ticks and burrs and names

A Cro-Magnon woman
The Moroccan Eve
The Mother of Mitochondria
A wishbone admiring a pomegranate
Red mouth chomping up a red Heaven
Squats against a rock
Laughs at stars unloosened from her bowels

The hid cut with splintered stone
Carcass butchered, the meat set aside
The bones cooked and cracked
Mouth full of sticky marrow
A shaman is speaking to silver fish
A chip of bone in the red pulp on his tongue
The Comet of Altamira in the firmament
He invokes these signs to flesh his valley
And coerce the earth to contraction

In the post-modern era
It is vogue to think
Beauty is what will be intact
Or better yet restored
When the stars have o name again
As if Nature were just a skin
Not the juicy fruit revealed
Not the delicacy of our tasting it

Beauty is not a quirk
In the genes of the beholder
Nor sanctity of the Thing-In-Itself:
Nature intact and unmolested
Without human impact
A log fallen in a forest
Without human ear to tine
The hollow of its heartwood

It is the offspring of our closeness
A knee jerk in our egg mass
An amphibian we lunge at in a wishing well
A loose angel revealed in the keel of our grip
The wings of its eyes opening
In the fabric of our silk
Once released no longer belonging to nothing

 

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