This evening I was looking at the photo of Saturn hanging above my son's desk as he did his homework. You can see our home if you look carefully. Earth is a small blue dot, second ring in from the outside, in the upper left of the photo.
Today I am a small creature
wandering in wonder
on the thin crust
a mere mote of dust
brushed by a wisp of air,
a creature teacher
wanting wonder to awake
waiting in the wake of time
to see if what I though was fine
will root and grow.
What arrows are there
that I can throw ahead
to say when I am dead
such a one was here?
None I fear
when I turn and see what was cast
I throw my present like water
on fires of long past,
only an echo
of one mother, no other
two hundred thousand
years ago.
Her faint call
encodes the thread
the weft that powers the web
echoes off each cell wall.
Will her long line
throw forward in space
find out new place
be unbroken by time?
