Everything is sacred:
the spiral faces of sunflowers
the music of gravity whirling through space
even shit-filled streams spinning down
monsoon streets gone suddenly mad with rain.
We say that is ugly. How can shit be sacred? It brings disease
And disease ends in death.
Maybe death is sacred. A horror-mask that when removed
Reveals the strangest and simplest of all mysteries:
A window
A womb
A word whispered in the whorled ear of a spiral galaxy:
Begin.
