Motions

Where is the universe?
 God is not conscious;
 The structure of reality is a fractal.
  
 The gnarled burls in the unfurled fir,
 Trunk twist maple – spalted, pustuled,
 The orange-crusted lesions of the lichened plumb.
  
 In the winter a frost forest on a skeletal tree;
 In the summer a million river-veined branching planes;
 A freezing, blooming, burning, dying Möbius symphony phoenix.
  
 Up on the pier,
 High atop green ribboned swells,
 A crow’snested gull crows to emerald sea and all its pearls.
  
 Watched by binoculars,
 Business suit lunching
 Through high-rise corner office glass walls meeting coldly.
  
 Sandwich chunk choke,
 Throat grasp, obstructed gasp…
 Bye binoculars.
  
 Shuffling funeral-goers in black hats;
 Back-pats and murmurings of:
             Much too young;
             So, so tragic;
             And what of the family?
  
 Two children grow, leave nest,
 Go off, meet, domesticate, mate,
 Multiply.
  
 Descendants approaching infinity;
 O, mythic Mortality,
 Om.