by linda pastan
in
this
kingdom
u
s n
the
never
s e t s;
v
o a
l
under the pale
o f t h e s k y
there
seems
no
way
in
or
out,
and though there is a
s e a h e r e
there is no ti d e .
for the egg itself
o
m o
n
is a
g l o w i n g f a i n t l y
g a l a x y
in the
of the barn,
safe but for the spoon's
o m i n o u s thUndEr,
the first delicate c r a c k
of light