We keep searching ourselves for ourselves
As a pattern we could shape from us,
More than any one of us could be,
More of our own knowing than has been.
If we can find the stomach for it,
The bag of metabolism, guts,
Meanings’ own maw, then we can move on,
Away from the life scaffolding us
Like a deep sea hydrothermal vent
Once scaffolded its own ancestors
Until their vortices floated off,
Living literally new in the sun.
This planet was scaffolded by sun,
And the sun was scaffolded by night.
Life scaffolds us. Doesn’t mean we’re not
Soon to make meanings in our own right.