A Note on the Antinomy of Teleological Judgment

You are God’s, yes,
but what are you?

A water balloon launched with a grunt.
A storm, violent and passing.

Articulation makes a snowflake proud,
but this is not the work of soul:

There’s no ghost in nature’s art,
and no death in melting.

It’s summer now, my love.
Woe unto solids.

God loves you too. You’re his.
But we’ll defy him a while yet.

We’ll hold together.

(Originally published in Pod znamenem radosti, 2005).

Comments

[S]

You make me feel all squishy inside

[Justin E. H. Smith]

You are squishy inside, you transient sac of jelly.