egg

by linda pastan


in this kingdom

the sun never s

                               e

                                   t

                                      s

                                              ;

under the pale

                               v

                    o                a

                               l

of the     s    k    y

there seems no way     i      i    i  in

or out  t    t      t,

and though there is a s  e  a here

there is no t    i        d            e        .


for the egg itself

is a

            o

    m              o

            n

glowing faintly

in the galaxy of the barn,

safe but for the spoon's

ominous thunder,

the first delicate c

                                   r

                                       a

                                          c

                                              k

of lightning.