A jet flashed in the post-noon sun
As though an atom split;
Or in that instant did it fly
Between dimensions and thus shun
This world for that of spirit?
In the bare April trees a pairOf blue tits seeking insects bounced
Between branches ceaselessly;
So, particles with a fecund flare
Artlessly nourish Being’s founts,
Too grand: rather, Icarus’ hand,Touching the sun, exploded in
Presumption; wreckage fell,
Past the blind-to-death tits, to land
In shattered skeins, dissolving in
Matter’s ebb and swell.
====================© June 2013