And down from the peaks
those same old pissed out molecules
tumble (late from the bowels of a chipmunk that died after two seconds
in the talons of a red-tailed hawk, a male; his first solo kill--)
tiny bits of life downhill
Sun shining, sere and hot:
when they later climb
the great sky ladder
what do we see...?
Who is to know which motes of sky
were made at the beginning of time
and rolled down that gentle but slippery
nineteen billion years high slope to us,
and which became, in that blink of moment,
testimony of a new creation?
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