Gloria

But here is a lovely thing - the winner of the National Poetry Competition is an unpublished poet, Paul Adrian, with this fine poem:

Robin in Flight

Let's imagine for a second that the robin
is not a contained entity moving at speed
through space, but that it is a living change,
unmaking and remaking itself over and over
by sheer unconscious will, and that
if we were to slow down the film enough
we would see a flying ball of chaos,
flicking particles like Othello counters,
air turning to beak in front just as tail transforms to air behind,
a living being flinging its changes at a still universe.
This would require infinite alignments. Each molecule
privy to the code of its possible settings,
the capacity of a blade of grass to become
the shadow of a falling apple by pure force
of the tree's instinct. Every speck of world with the potential
to become stone, dog's breath, light twisted through glass,
filth under fingernails, the skin's bend at the bullet's
nudge the moment before impact,
the thought of a robin in flight,
the thought of the thought of a robin in flight.

In the act of imagining, of pure thought, the creation. A good place to leave you with today's offering: Gloria.