Life comes to matter.
Matter comes to life
All manner of matter,
no matter how deep in the earth,
how far out in space,
how frozen or sunken or sere,
how bleak the surroundings,
how hot or how hostile,
life simply insists
To bring into being
an utterly lifeless world,
now that would require creators:
an extremely large indian,
Fenrir’s older brother,
tyrannosaurus warthog,
a 96-trillion-ton nun, a mean one,
who grew up without any toys,
who won’t let the stars form pictures
of bulls and fish, who scolds molecules
if they repeat themselves
But the minute she turns her back,
some brittle, inert bit of rubble
will burst into song
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