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10/19/10 - (2)
The Poem of Life
Once, when I was so very passionately, lovingly young, Reveling in youth's energetic ecstasies and reckless epiphanies, Running amidst my green soul's year-'round-blossoming garden, Worshiping ivory full moons, coronas of golden suns, Spiders, bumblebees, millipedes, grasshoppers, and butterflies,
I would say out my spirited and glorious great good fortune, By reciting, to trees, squirrels, birds — any creature in nature's embrace — The lines of an unending free-verse poem My mesmerized psyche would chance upon, by sheer serendipity, Every breath I'd breathe, any step I'd take, each moment I'd arrest,
And in so doing, entering those enchanting, entrancing meters, Celebrate my recently born daughter, Trilogy, Who emerged from a vague gleam in my visionary eye, Then grew, by leaps and bounds, through childhood's motions, To adolescence's just-budding physical and intellectual beauty,
Seizing, with intuitive and imaginative ebullience, The sun and moon, the constellations, the galaxy, the cosmos, The rudiments of humanity, the fundamental elements of divinity, Becoming the woman who's just delivered, unto my aged days, News of the earliest manifestations of her motherhood:
A child who'll perpetuate, if not my surname, my faith in renascence, An echo of my daughter herself, whom her mother and I conceived — The baby girl we called Trilogy Maya — A visitation from her green soul's year-'round-blossoming garden... The youngest lines of the poem that's never ceased writing itself.
10/19/10 - (2)
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