because     suddenly     you see

the whole universe is yet to be

uncovered     you lift

 

the lid & add precisely one and a half

teaspoons of photons to the black vat

of atoms nattering themselves into a froth—

 

& because with the heat they generate

you could boil

 

an egg (such as     say

the calcium-bound     alimentary plasma

of an embryonic chicken

 

or even one of the kiln-fired variety

that you might decide to glaze

with a tie-dye motif from the invisible

 

light spectrum     cajoling it to appear

indiscriminate)—

 

the dense infinity of which tricks

your brain into believing the secret

of simmeringin a wood-smoke-redolent

reduction of souls

(the one that tastes like honey is your very own)

 

now makes you this cobalt curl of steam

finally climbing into the identity you’ve been

 

fancying for all eternity:

a heart thrumming crimson

trumpet-flowers & indigo buntings

 

born knowing meaning

is forged in the vacuum

of a dragon’s breath