Time and Death

There is no wisdom
In the trees.
I know that.
They didn’t smithy
Their own great trunks
Stout enough
To lift their boughs
To the sun,
Yet lithe enough
To dance with
The March winds.
Time and death
Engineered the oaks.

From Elsewhere

Through all the indifferent
Millennia from the
First Millisecond
To where we stand
On fresh-grown legs,
No quark in the cosmos
Has moved on orders
Of any god. No god ever
Has intervened to make
A Holocaust or flood,
No wind, no wave,
Not anything.
No healing, no sparing,
No rescue ever
Has been sent
In blessing or mercy
From Elsewhere.

A Geometry of Conscience

Is there out there,
Much as the suns are,
A rightness
And wrongness
Of things,
A geometry
Of conscience
Really resident
In the cosmic lattice
Beyond the chemistry
Of our minds?