Contemplation

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
become yesterday and yesterday and yesterday.

For a brief age I sat upon a ridge
viewing a changing world.

The earth moved.
Now I view the universe,
from the bottom of a chasm,
stars and sun through long a narrow window.

My brothers and sisters
whisper to me in long, slow dreams.

Born of molten matter,
shaped and shifted
by sliding layers of earth;
carved by wind and rain.

I remember human ancestors
as slowly spreading, primordial ooze.

Perhaps,
as the tectonic dance continues
I will be returned to molten core,
or perhaps left here.

And when the impermanent sun forgets to shine,
then I shall gaze at spinning galaxies,
and perhaps,
in my dreams,
I will remember the gentle patter of footsteps.