The Blooming
The mind reposed
in the muck
of the ocean floor,
waiting to be born.
The riddle of life
came out of the mud.
The ghosts
inhabit us all.
The origins,
the bloom of verdant fields,
the vertebrates:
They crawled;
they stood;
seeing in a clear pool
an image
they knew.
They drank the salt water,
lifted the cup,
knew joy in the sunrise,
found life was sweet
and death was
the turbulence
of the water.
Copyright © Bill Yates | Year Posted 2016
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