First you move your fingers, next
You manipulate a spoon. Later,
You watch your fingers move, you say,
“I almost feel like a spectator.”
The infant learns to guide his finger
To his mouth—not only because
That step comes first, but see,
It sets the image of the laws
That send your mind to hover out
In space, and truly set the seal,
So that the spinning of the galaxy
Imprints its stars upon your heel.
The spiders rise up in the air,
Lifted by strands of silk, lifted
By their own electric charge,
Thousands of them have vaguely drifted,
Mirroring the filaments of galaxies.
The orb-weaver, the cat-faced spider,
The hacklemesh weaver, and in space
GN-z11, the outrider,
And IC-342, the spider
Galaxy. The Corryvreckan,
The Sombrero Galaxy,
Finger shadows wave and beckon,
The footprints of an old foot
Fade, and then you see
A young foot, a child whose mother
Birthed each galaxy.
When wisdom enters your heart,
Your knowledge will be delight,
A cosmic thought will guard you,
The splash of the Milky Way’s light.
Yaacov David Shulman