Angling toward reason,
the earth tilts on its axis,
daring gravity to hold us,
Down here on the surface,
I do not notice - I feel stable,
solid on ground that does not
shift. I am wrong.
Once in a while, the earth
hints at its movement - passage
of cloud across a windy sky,
rumble of quake along a fault,
volcanoes spilling fiery guts
onto unwitting landscapes.
Yet I pretend I am in control.
In yoga, I stand in tadasana,
my heels pressing downward,
crown reaching high, settling
into the very bedrock of myself.
In these quiet moments, gravity
is tangible, a gentle buttress,
powerful, invisible.
Surely other forces are unseen,
brushing me as I walk to work,
whispering in my ears as I sleep,
mysteries in a world that tries
to clarify all things. Science can
explain the color of sky, but I would
rather marvel at the secrecy of blue.
It is one thing to discuss refracted
and reflected light - it is another to
wonder at the vast, inexplicable
horizon, its ever-changing palette.
Life is more than science. Let gravity
exert its pull at will. I will relish
the miracle, anchored to the soil.
Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.