To a Perennial Reductionist

Perhaps you are right, claiming it fear

of silence that evokes the song.

There is indeed dread this one chance appear—

and vanish—before the strong

heart can probe our implication and weigh

earth’s dearness. Knowing death drives us

to shout our yea or sneer the sullen nay;

and will hones itself thus.

But delight too waters the root of joys,

and beneath terror our truth feeds

on timelessness and on valor of choice

to lift ourselves past needs

or dull circling, and affirm each straw of stress.

So God, creating, might have said:

Molding this world from dusty nothingness

makes life unlimited.