Feet on the floor,
one day the cold wood
could shock the heart,
the daily miracle of knees

Aspirin, magnesium, exercise, even
scripture, all cautions;
an ant wrestling crumbs
across a mountain of cake,
the arterial paths of stars,
the pulse of the moon.

We make our way, 
grunting turtles in the sand.
If it were just magnets and light,
this thing of mornings from night,
we'd not bother with letters or names,
or footnotes to the intelligent
Will SchmitComment