In Memoriam Mae Noblitt

    This is just a place：

    we go around， distanced，

    yearly in a star's

    atmosphere， turning

    daily into and out of

    direct light and

    slanting through the

    quadrant seasons： deep

    space begins at our

    heels， nearly rousing

    us loose： we look up

    or out so high， sight's

    silk almost draws us away：

    this is just a place：

    currents worry themselves

    coiled and free in airs

    and oceans： water picks

    up mineral shadow and

    plasm into billions of

    designs， frames： trees，

    grains， bacteria： but

    is love a reality we

    made here ourselves——

    and grief——did we design

    that——or do these，

    like currents， whine

    in and out among us merely

    as we arrive and go：

    this is just a place：

    the reality we agree with，

    that agrees with us，

    outbounding this， arrives

    to touch， joining with

    us from far away：

    our home which defines

    us is elsewhere but not

    so far away we have

    forgotten it：

    this is just a place.