One Poem by Kathleen Coffee

Metamorphosis, for Sir James Jeans

The solar orbit goes ovalesque around
in Gravity’s grooves.
The sun-disk unravels as it travels
or it would have been too hot
for us to handle.
The pressure of the seasons on
the planet’s epidermis
keeps dividing the world
into who’s out and who’s in,
and whose is that fiendish, smirky grin?
Mister Death, is that you?

Is it true by traveling inward
I break out of
my molecular cocoon
into a world of pure wave lengths
where I shed the alphabetic
chain links holding me back,
words dissolving like darkness
in the morning sun?

Such a trip is as difficult
as each becoming all
or all becoming each,
the all inherent in the small,
hard as base being alchemized to gold,
easy as there turned into here,
which happens suddenly
when the butterfly’s no longer a grub.

{Poem by Kathleen Coffee}