Birth is not borne because born means made-
Borne means carried, held, conveyed.
Made we are- of universe.
Patience, fire, blessing, curse.
Stars buckling and shifting so
Creates a form and let's it go,
And messengers arrive to take
The parcels our galaxies make.
When they're called, they're called in fleets.
Catching stars in held-taut sheets
And knotting them in gentle claws
And signaling with careful caws.
Odd silhouettes that soar and cry
In the strange space that fills our sky.
Creatures made of elegance,
Of snowy glass, like ornaments,
Peppering where darkness lies,
Framing suns starting to rise.
Over shores, through violet mist-
Over plains, dry and sun kissed.
Above mountains, heaped with snow-
Above seas where highwinds blow.
Under glaciers, crystalline-
Under canyons, serpentine.
Life is scattered, left, and dealt.
Peace comes flooding. Pain is felt.
But we are not born because born means made,
We are borne- carried. Held. Conveyed.
