Scintillating Fuss

Poems make the fabric of the day –
they are the substance and the mirror
of the play – it’s not like you can’t find one –
rather that you never can’t.

Poems are Existence’ DNA –
beyond electrons, quarks and leptons
are the rising, falling, stepped-on
yet resilient chants and strings of vibrancy

that constitute the warp and woof
of poesy which weaves and sews
and undergoes the freaky subtleties
without which we could not account

for you or me. Poems are, however,
so profuse that our experience of them
is pardonably loose, diffuse,
confusing – so much juice! –

amazing that we ever catch the tiniest
sweet snatch of it to put out here
for scrutiny. I grabbed a handful of the stuff
just now but it was so beyond enough

that I was forced to let it go. So many
syllables all in the throes of numinosity! –
quite something for a creature
made of them to see: quite something

to begin to recognize the lineaments
and the contours of the scintillating
fuss that ultimately makes,
and is made up of, us.

.