Like a jellyfish, the kind they claim can live forever—
cycling through phases like a moon,
bequeathing over and over to yourself
all your earthly belongings, owner
and heir of eternity, but
Like a sandbank in a level, nightlong rain,
into what contains you, what erodes you,
what engraves you.
like the pressing forth of jonquils tongues
With pent joy, like a spinning seed.
Or like a seedling newly leafed,
to its first sun.
Or a seed crystal,
vigilant—though long inured to loneliness—
leaning to catch the first click
until you almost hear what
may never come.
as if you’d long ago heard it once before.
And gladly, gladly,
as if everything you’ve heard of it