Poem: Little Karmas

 

Little Karmas

 

i ache

as if someone broke glass

and stashed the shards

in my brain.

the problem is this:

i feel the little karmas

of ants and chickens,

and everything in-between.

 

they shout up at me,

these puny scorecards

that hail back

to the first oozy womb.

they’ve found a way

to preserve genesis

in long, endless threads.

 

what’s being woven,

i don’t know, but every leg

on every insect is a needle.

every feather on every bird

sews the wind.

the tiniest scuttle services fate,

and if you nudge it,

you tweak the tapestry

of a billion years.

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