ACE OF WANDS
Noon in the garden.
Half-open tiger lilies vie for attention,
summer heat sets me wondering:
I wonder if the generously brazen blazing heart of this planetary system
recalls its big-bangy birth,
knows that the answer to “Who’s your daddy?” is an ancestor so primal
that no number of “greats” tacked on to “grandparent”
could ever do it due honour.
I wonder if the mysterious current that courses through my body,
informs electrocardiograms that I haven’t flatlined yet
and causes acupuncture to work
is the thunderous voice that sang the cosmos into being.
I wonder if that original flaring forth knew — thirteen-point-eight billion years ago —
that one day,
one parching, petunia-scented mid-day in July,
one of its incendiary spermatozoa would land on and stick to this page,
set it alight,
conceive a poem.
© 2014, James P. Wells
Image: Ace of Wands from the Thoth Tarot (Aleister Crowley & Frieda Harris).