We are the burgeon of earth, relentless.
We are a great striving across the sky;
above and below, in and through the muddle, the
clarity of being one named human. Our
species inhabits the rift between animal and
spirit, each at once, neither one alone. We are the
down in the kestrel’s wing, the claw of the ermine.
We are the roe of reddened fish, the desperate feign of
the killdeer, the afterbirth of bear, the breath of
island fox. We are the harbor lights of Avalon, the
wheel of the Mars rover, the statue of Balto in
Central Park. We are the gild of the cathedral and
the filth of the bowery. We, the afterthought of
stars, we, the shimmer on the face of the deep.
And it was given to us, being made human,
to reckon all matter and form,
structure and essence,
earth and sky.