We were born to be blessed, to be torn into being
Alive, to be weary and open and lost,
Carrying ourselves
As the weight of the planet spins us into light.
We were born to say this, beholding,
Beholden to everything here
Before and after fire and water,
Earth and air. We were born for the snow
To fall on us over and over,
Anonymous leaflets
Glimmering far and near, arriving
Without being read, seraphs
Of unrecounted history
Sending an inaudible reply.
We were born for the birth to be borne
To the end of time, to know
It is time, no matter the time, though today
Everything is as it is
Without anything in the world
Covering the door
To things as they are:
Confetti of laughter rising
From a town, a festival
Dying down, floating by,
A field being fed by the snow.
~ from May Day (Penguin Books, 2008)
