The rhythms of the earth are never still:
the frantic pre-dawn anthem of the birds,
the heat-inspired cicadas’ single words
and fossils keep their records without will.
The waves that lap in summer never still,
and summer without autumn is absurd;
and moon and sun pursue and time recurs
and lungs and hearts reply and will until
the ancient mighty summons has its way
and as an eyelid shutters for an instant
so winks and shrinks all this to a single atom
And then as if the sun rose for the day
it all begins a mighty bawling infant:
then starts again like a mighty calf to fatten.
