egg

      by linda pastan

in this         kingdom

the sun never s

                    e

                t

            s

        ;

u

    n

        d

            e

                r

the pale oval

of the sky

there seems     n

                    o

                w

            a

        y

    i

n

    o

        r

            o

                u

                    t

                        ,

and though there is a sea         here

there is no tide.

for the egg itself

is a         moon

                    g

                l

            o

        w

    i

n

    g

        f

            a

                i

                    n

                t

            l

        y

in the galaxy of the barn,

safe but for the     spoon's

o

    m

        i

            n

                o

                    u

                s

            t

        h

    u

n

    d

        e

            r

                ,

the first delicate     crack

                    o

                f

            l

        i

    g

h

    t

        n

            i

                n

                    g

                .