Rounding bends of a mind
I’d thought mine I find
You who’ve thought up me
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It’s never too late to pray
Oh, the division!
Return to your loom, Lord,
to weave us all together
This day a school
Of speculation lit
chiefly by stars
Humble servant
I said, “This
Is day one.”
But what does that mean?
God made the circle
I put my finger on reality
Her belly button to be exact.
We both began to giggle
Basket of celestial fruit
Love, my love, says come, my love
We’ll fail and fail and fail again!
Utrecht Journal 