This Blue Earth Planet

The things we play with on the sur­face of this blue earth planet
Are crys­tal rocks for look­ing through
Are melted sand-glass jars for hold­ing liquids in
Are fer­ment­ing fruits and clocks for count­ing cogs
and each oth­ers’ rhythms and tunes.
Some times we can catch hold of these knots of exist­ence,
see them sewn into a line of a song
a glance of an eye, a smile or stare.

 

Hold them to your chest and let them beat there against you
pump their tune, through your blood and through your body,
let them move the single cells inside you who organ­ise them­selves
into organs and thoughts for the ringing of bells.
Hold these tunes to your ear, press the glass jar and thin tin lid
close enough to listen to this whirl­ing, sus­pen­ded
in this moment, that we all are alive enough to hear.

 

The things we play with on the sur­face of this blue earth planet
Are threaded thoughts for weav­ing together words and worlds
about being creatures sub­ject to believ­ing and sleep­ing,
find­ing and need­ing, des­troy­ing and keep­ing.
The things we play with on the sur­face of this blue earth planet
Are molecules for breath­ing in and eat­ing.
We take up, recre­ate, dis­cover, alter, change and make space
on the sur­face of this sphere
all the time won­der­ing about the cogs of ourselves,
and the keys of the oth­ers who inhabit this blue earth planet.

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