The Difference Between One and Reunion

Repeating the sunrise, the chirping bird
fills itself with the world, sings
it out in a puff, bob, and whistle—
cacophony to the bee in the flower
nuzzling, the thirst for more, deeper
still. The head twists in a blur
to clear the senses. A new realm.
The first dawn must have been like this.

You and I were there, as star-
ash, scattered in atoms not
yet gathered into the us we are—
just a lumbering shrug of bonding
here and there, perhaps a shudder
of recognition of what was to come:
the hum of promise the oak remembers
from the tumbling cupule fall. The thump.

And we wait between beats. Asleep
as the seasons repeat like a drum. Dreaming
the actor into being, the play resumes—
The rearrangement of ancient stories
into new ones, one sunrise
at a time, lines and acts repeated,
the lovers and the future assembled thus
in a shimmer like a placenta spilled,
or a surfacing fish. The wish for wholeness
rises and shines as we lie in the dark.
The thing we forget is this:
the song of sun in the bird,
the same arc and angle, the familiar
air. The oncoming light echoed
in a blur of stars between poles.
The hum in the wires. The letter from home.

Grant Hier is professor of English and chair of liberal arts at Laguna College of Art and Design.
*Photo courtesy of Roberto Verzo.