Make of me, too, a microcosm
Make of me, too, a microcosm—
Merger, marry, manifest
As the bridegroom, as the stone-melted
Heart. Move but do not remove me, for monsters
Maraud in madness here, and we meet
Mettle to mettle about the place. But you—
Magnificent as mystery, as morning, you
Are mooring the ship of me, mastering the maze
Of my malaise to run like marrow through bronze
Bones, an unmappable river overlapping the
Mayhem. You mumble or hum of Spring-things,
May-things made for me, mighty and bright
As midnight meteor, final as eucatastrophe
Mounting in stillness. You dip Ursa Major
Into the pail with a wink milky as motherhood:
Come meadow, come minnow, come maple
And mink, come drink, (you say) come marvel!
Our blue marble maiden—mess though she may be—
Her majesty is mineral-deep! Minstrels sing it and mages
Know it. Myriad music still marks her mind, her memory,
Music of mending and meaning, naming and being—
Music of mackerel meandering, matter and mass,
Metaphysical music marching from moment to minute
To minute and back in a palindrome line, meticulous
And light as a match, hatchling fresh. You say much more,
All unmeasurable, and to the unending moment of you I say:
Make of me, too, a magic.