Atoms

Atoms

The magic of all atoms

lives inside us,

we cannot see why.

A table is solid

because it chooses to be.

I choose love,

I choose to be alive,

I buzz with electrons of wisdom

bound by particles of experience.

They hold me together

(by agreement)

they do not quarrel—

the job gets done, all

work gets done.

Elsewhere,

fields are tilled

apples plucked in ripeness

wheat is cut and lies

waiting in the field.

All these things tell our story—

the yellow bedsheets,

the china cup with a chipped rim,

the spoon that got bent funny

and never was brought back—

the atoms misaligned

in eternity.