A Growing Thing

I am a growing thing.

Atoms and molecules and cells and mitochondria

proliferate even as they die.

Cells multiply, multiply,

divide, divide,

and matter does not die

but simply changes form to energy

so nothing is lost

for even that which dies—

or seems to die—

is simply changing form

becoming light,

which is to say the energy of the Universe.

 

I am a growing thing

and grow I will, like any tree,

expanding and cracking the bark of my skin

while inside the sap runs,

slowly, swiftly, powerfully,

from the tips of my spreading roots

to the tiny ends of my reaching branches.

 

I am a growing thing

until the moment

when my matter

no longer matters

and I join the energy of the Void.

 

 

Copyright 2014 Ann Tudor

www.anntudor.ca
http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

Early Morning Moon

I stand by the bedroom window

this morning, pulling on a sweater,

expecting nothing

because seldom do I see

at 6:36

the Moon in any guise

so imagine my surprise

when there she lies

above the neighbour's leafing oak.

 

A tiny thing today.

A sliver on the way to nothing,

a not-silver sliver

that rose late

and has traversed hardly half the sky

by this morning hour.

 

The tardy sliver's stark curve--

precise, clear-cut—

pulls me to it.

Nonetheless, being human

and in a hurry

I turn away to find a sock, a shoe—

a moment only, I promise you—

and when I return to fill my eyes again

with pale gold curve carved into my sky

she is gone.

Morning has obliterated, for now,

the one thing sweet enough

to awaken my heart today.

 

 

Copyright 2014 Ann Tudor

www.anntudor.ca
http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com

Along the Lifeline's Crease

My lifeline's crease is deeper now than long.

How long is a lifeline?

How high is the sky?

 

Forget the length. This lifeline's deep,

its chasm's walls lined with

gatherings of silk in colours

made from insect bodies, ground minerals,

flowers dried and crumbled.

The silks float free and flutter,

rainbows that glow in all weathers.

 

The rim of the chasm's walls

displays an endless line of portraits—

gnarled, wrinkled, smooth:

people of the earth, and each one beautiful.

 

The floor of my lifeline's canyon

gleams malachite in marbled green

bearing the feet of passing royalty.

 

My lifeline is deeper now than long.

But I would not trade its riches

for any increased length.

 

 

Copyright 2014 Ann Tudor

www.anntudor.ca

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ann Tudor www.anntudor.ca
http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com