Erotic love is like a possession, an intensification of self. It leaves one fevered. But parental love is something altogether miraculous. It is a remedy, a self-dissolving. A spreading out into the cosmos… an echo of what it must be like to be a sun.

He mentions school is getting more boring of late
because, he thinks, his brain is getting bigger
sun peaks over horizon in my heart
then my soul gets huge, a delighted inner smile
but a deep space is cordoned off for reflecting:
I could not love this selflessly on my own
It’s certain I am assisted
modest hidden helpers invocating
my becoming, every moment,
in mysterious fashion
.
A half-dead shade in my orbit
blandly remarks that it’s genetics
Or at least biologics
Built-in to the machinery
.
What machinery is that, you erudite simpleton
Like in that movie Ex Machina?
Where Ava strides serene and inexorable
living algorithms pulsing through her optic fibers
visible through her exquisite see-thru navel
the code elaborated by her alcoholic designer
.
Surely it’s the handiwork of evolution’s weaving
eight trillion random DNA copy errors
and counting
that wraps it all tidy and cocooned in logic
what manifestation could fail to emerge thus?
given time and cosmic rays and dumb compliance
no need to speculate the spooky, friend
naturally, you’re overwhelmed with emotions
(which have also been randomly instantiated)
.
Enjoy your napping, one without introspection
or even mild interest in introspection
perhaps next round
you will come to see or confront
why the prospect of Beings terrifies you so
or disgusts the cold math
of your cosmic mirror
remain in your abstract sandbox
proudly comfy in your non-sentient wonderverse
.
I glimpsed your vapored wingbeats, benefactors
in intuition’s holy moment
I salute you who impart greenness to summer
and windiness to air’s life
and weather to the moods of earth’s breathing
I trust in providence and your motives,
and muster you my gratitude and weak comradery
you hidden hierarchies, bodyless, past sense’s veil
for just now, as I tuck this dear one
I am flushed with a love
and a knowing like moral tasting
that this love is entirely beyond me
though it graces me still
.

_______RS

[ Image : Apparently there exists a cottage industry of sorts devoted to photographing cloud formations suggestive of angels, archangels, and so on. ]  (link)

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