it'd take
an acid trip,
or a beatific vision
on day six
of a fast,
but more often,
you're doing dishes,
or stuck in traffic
when you notice:
a soul
must exist
in the smallest
of objects.
Heaven
may swim
with the cyanide
in an apple seed;
god
could be stuck
in a hydrogen atom
like Daedalus
condemned to roam lost
in his labyrinth.
The proof
is in how you
can't ever truly
map all the ins
to the outs
of anything—
not without
pinning and
killing it, that is.
Therefore (it practically
behooves you
to conclude)
nothing that's living
is ever finished
meaning.
