Theory of Gravity, poem for my own damned birthday
There’s as much mystery in a fork falling under the table as in how
I got to be here to drop it, how
a being wholly composed of
slowed down light could become so opaque.
I fetched the dropped fork but how
my fingers knew what they touched what
process of electricity in a cell, what
snap of spark across a synapse, which
long-necked neurons woke and thrilled while
others slept would be a bowed head
in a day long prayer where
every day is holy,
every moment epiphany.
Fork returned to fingers lifted in
the air, the food that fed the nerve,
the thoughtless thought that acted without
me to retrieve the fork. What
intention is or isn’t, how
Aristotle said the fork fell
because of love— how
sometimes I think he was right.
22 thoughts on “Theory of Gravity: Or a poem for my own damned birthday”
Happy Birthday, Rodger. Enjoy moment deeply.
Thank you Ed
Thank you Laura
It’s a holy day.
May your happy dreams come true.
Happy birthday., Rodg.
Thanks Barry old friend
Happy Birthday, enjoyed the poem.
Thank you Norbert. Nice to see you here. Let me know how you are doing.
What a great fusion of the transcendent, the scientific, and the mundane. Here’s to more everyday moments of joy and discovery. Wishing you a fulfilling year ahead Rodger.
Thank you very much.
So appropriate —
Thank you birthmate
Happy birthday, dear Rodger, wishing you love and mystery. x
Thank you Elle.
Thank you. Go together.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ROGER
Kudos for celebrating your life with a dropped fork. Cheers Jan
A very good day, forks and all
Yes for sure.
HB Roger. Stay well and enjoy.
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