I lie furled, leaf-like,
each transparent vein perfectly
rolled into a secret womb,
deep.
Wherever my planets lie
a mystery builds, stoking the
placental cocoon toward zenith.
What is the secret? What is the
formula that guides sinew and
bone within life's canyons?
Such deep crevasse and glorious
sunsets--each breathing molecules
of life, starbursts of primordial prism
toward some window, some path,
dictated by Saturn, warmed by Jupiter
and driven by Pluto's volcanic blood.
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