|Image from Theme Thursday|
13 April 2012
Everything in Its Place
A lonely bottom-dwelling sand grain
Doesn’t know the weight of its dune.
It won’t hear the desert’s windy rhythm.
It can’t know its billions of brothers
Are tiny, old silica men.
It doesn’t feel the bare feet
On its hot, silty skin.
But it knows where it belongs .
The seven seas
Don’t feel the hot flow of the gulf stream
In their wet veins.
They don’t understand how they’ve given in
To the moon’s galactic persuasion,
And will do so again
But they know they must.
The air in my lungs
Can’t comprehend its composition.
It’s nitrogen doesn’t care
How popular it might be.
It won’t smell the ozone
In its lightning scorched flesh.
And it doesn’t know why
It shouldn’t boil away into space.
But it won’t.
Everything so orderly
In its way.
Controlled beyond reason
Like a randomly perfect mortared wall.
Everything in its place.
Photo and inspiration for Day 13 of NaPoWriMo from Theme Thursday's current theme, organize.