Odes

Contents

1 Ode to an egg

 

1

31 December 2013 Ode 1.2

Ode to an egg

You force the word

forward:

ellipse.

That is your shape

formed by the body

where you came from.

Neruda would have said:

small hard universe,

portal from which life

can march

crowing

in raw gouts of joy

and raging billows

of pain,

yet, living

the ebb and tide of your life;

the ocean retreats

and advances

eternally.

I do not say that,

I hold you in my hand,

it fits my palm with the calm reassurance

of a still life

by a master sculptor,

unmoving,

yet with a motion

that differentiates

incomprehensibly, finally, inarguably

a wondrously carved jade stone

from a chicken.

Little descendant of dinosaurs,

you open your beak

and squeak.

Is it language?

No, but it is a message:

I am a being.