Prime Cause

Who knows where anything begins:
       if seed, if stock, if accident
             lays the ground for what manifests

after decades of quietude— One day,
       a body thinking only of walking
             itself home takes a small

detour. Takes a leap, as if to clear
       a fence. Hopes to take the moon
             but needless to say, inherits  

only the steadfast earth. What remnant   
       of that hard encounter with the truth
             lodges as bone, as breach, as

shredded endoneurion? The body 
       after all is mass and also its own
             residue. A tremor scales  

the walls; vines hold to the trellis.  
       After a while, it's hard to tell if  
             the foliage moves, or is moved. 

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