so easy to miss when you lose yourself
bleeding bureaucracy, budget headaches,
by a thousand papercuts &
it fell through the cracks among interesting conflicts,
expired I.D. left it mummified
a peripheral pedestrian security cage
off Battery Lane.
it's probably still alive someplace here,
I frisk the grounds; peruse the faces;
in the labs; scour the clinics and wards;
once more for a pulse.
asking, just feeling one last time
the poetry of the place.
late, a colleague calls Look at that Moon!
look out, as the Worm Moon floods the grounds.
later, heading home, pass a wild spring mix
thoughtful faces. Late night labwork
ultimate melting pot. Some will keep digging
night for illumination.
sure enough, in some lab,
in yet another section,
finally sees it! How it works!
holds the moment tenderly as a newborn.
witness to a tiny face of Creation.
morning I'm back,
(The cleaning lady tutors my Spanish.)
pass through the waiting room:
faces of faith here for a dip
the current-swirl of science,
"last best hope." Perhaps today
angel of insight
swoop down, troubling the pool
heal against all odds
this awkward lab-coated agent.
when Bethesda's moon is just so,
membrane between spirit and science
riddled with rafts of traversing protein filaments
discovery, compassion, creation, insight.
when I say Adiós, and walk away for good,
try not to squish the worms. I know
as with the death of my beloved,
and years will gently debride
grief, and leave behind
poetry of the place.