So much of the matter that makes up the helix of our being
is neither human nor animal, but the stuff of cosmos—
stardust mangles under time’s bed, hairs from renegade comet tails,
shards from planets and stars long dead, debris from the jumble tumble
of eternity that has bonded us into one species in love with the idea
of forever. The imprint hidden in there somewhere, before the union
of sperm and ovum, before the zygote grows an alien-looking head
with closed eyes that see, before the thumb buds and mouth slits
to suck nourishment in the secret amniotic sea of dreams where we
rock until the water breaks, and we are cast upon the shores of light
where we learn to wait through the nights and days, to spend our lives
searching for who we are.
P.C. Scheponik is a lifelong poet who lives by the sea with his wife, Shirley, and their shizon, Bella. His writing celebrates nature, the human condition, and the metaphysical mysteries of life. He has published six collections of poems. His work has also appeared in numerous literary journals. He is a 2019 Pushcart Prize nominee.