There are spheres in the world
that contain the whole of who we are:
the womb that carries us,
the sky of night by which loving voices
sing to us,
the cup of palm,
the grace of skull
and forming bone,
the round tone of voice which paints
such heartbreak of love,
the wheel of time,
the curve of ripened fruit
that lets us imbibe unbroken summers.
These will twist and turn us,
heating all sides
until we are encompassed by fire
in a wave of creation to which
we are born
ever perfect
ever turning
never ending.
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