Now, as I age, I look back to that first,
that mist from where out-stumbled stubby me;
as much as first light left the CMB,
an egg and sperm said: boy with a big thirst.
For everyone, though relative, the same,
both personal and universal bounds.
One question - what before - leads to the further game:
a variance in a field of lulling sounds.
And as for that other dread boundary,
indefinite yet, though Zeno distance halves,
love invests a faith in lives of progeny -
and then - the hell of it! Bless all the calves,
and the rivers running by their muddy hooves.
Oh, let the world labour in better grooves.
...........................
The equinox and my last day of self-isolation. It's a hybrid sonnet.