Quantum Intuition

 

It folds inward—

               involuting meaning from

               distant thunder in the night,

                              catching the drift of a tiny wind

                              just when it’s lifting up

                              the edge of a dead aspen leaf.

 

It skews outward—

               intersecting all of creation with

               the wind in the chimney,

                              getting the gist of a glint of sunlight

                              just as it’s falling on

                              the fringe of a fallen starling feather.

 

It crisscrosses—

               tangling the trails through

               the venerable wasteland,

                              sniffing out the reasons for grief

                              just as if the scent of laughter

                              doesn’t lie on every dusty stalk of grass.

 

It settles—

               sitting straight and true wherever

                it seems apt,

                              waiting for never-mind-what

                              even though the rustling of forever

                              hems it in on every side.