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In school you lean over a

microscope,

astonished by revelations

under glass, such minute

clarity

controlled.

I tell you, child, there is more

power

in the way your mind brings

matter

into focus and recombines

the elements,

more beauty infused in the

world

by your naked eye.

You think you want

congruence,

our imagination closer

than the rings of Saturn,

yours just enclosed in mine.

Let it be enough that a few

things

are predictable. You know

when you can peaches

your mother’s mood

becomes a wren.

Let your will resist me,

the future be the sky you’ll

map,

heaven visible like stars

when they are.

*

From “Trinity” by Susan Ludvigson. (Louisiana State University Press: $16.95, 72 pp.)

Copyright 1996 Reprinted by permission.