The life side of death

Look, look, look.
What is all this?
Why does the dog sniff?
What is the law of the land?
The lawn pushes upward to light, only to be clipped back in seven days.
The bird seeks a berry, and the one it missed drops and rots away only to re-organize again another year.
The pine births another round of glistening cones.
It’s undeniable. And the sun persists over it all.

The law demands more.
It demands entropy and order but more than that.
It demands a sexual attempt – something that bounces back and forth between chaos and organized beauty.
That is the show of the land. . . . vapid as it may seem.
It is the absurdity of jazz.
The simplicity of pixels assembling then vanishing when the power is out.

Something somewhere gets a kick out of motivation for more.

Oh, and ‘they.’
‘They’ make incredible stories, some out of whole cloth mendacity, to do only the things the flowers do.
They scramble for attention, kind of like the birds after berries in a bush.
They tell each other how honorable they are in order to make a baby.
Some tell each other how devious they are . . . in order to make another deviant.
Some come together – their loins cleansed of their ability to procreate by pill, prophylactic or procedure – in order to pretend to make a baby!

And something weaving through all of us – the birds and the ants and even the most contrite of the humans – finds pleasure or meaning or rationality in this simple move from nothing to something.

A rush of blood fills my heart and dazzles the nerves across this frame to know that something comes from nothing.
That there is motion from here to there.
That there is holy ghost in action.
There is something going on when, in fact, futility reigns.
And the sun persists over it all. . . if only it could explain.