Born in the center of a Mother
pre-established
already willed so by some exterior power
motivated by another force
motivated by a best bet
by an instinct
cultivated by an interior other.
Son the moon is full
forgetting an infinitesimal
Melting decomposition finds lungs forever full,
unasking and quenched.
The tide is a tumbler smoothing rough edges,
keeping cool under bridges swarthy with blackened green moss.
A family is born from an alphabetic sequence.
Sounds separate and find themselves expressing
permutation free from repetition.
But never free from anything.
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