egg

                                                                                BY linda pastan

IN THIS kingdom

THE sun never sets;

                                                                                under THE pale oval

                                                                                OF THE sky

                                                                                THERE seems no way in

                                                                                or out,

AND THOUGH THERE IS A sea here

THERE IS no tide.

                                                                                FOR THE egg itself

                                                                                IS A moon

                                                                                glowing faintly

                                                                                IN THE galaxy OF THE barn,

safe BUT FOR THE spoon's

ominous thunder,

                                                                                THE first delicate crack

                                                                                OF lightning.