We live inside the living.
the lair no less than lion,
the bees no more than hive:
the you and I and everyone,
and what each sees and eats
and lives in, undertake as well
to co-create another vital given –
a sense intent on being certainty
that we’ll survive – wherein we
even may become, somehow
in consequence, by breathing
in its inorganic alchemy (no less
alive than we), articulate: capable
of saying what we see! – capacity
for which is borne to us in gusts
of subtle dazzle – magic flecks
suspended in the air, like those
that dust their gold on surfaces
of old unfathomable Rome.
Everywhere we are
amounts to sustenance
and company and all
we’ll ever know of home.