Friday, May 24, 2013


        That out of chaos order comes is wrong—
        As if a hurricane might sing a song,
        Or if in a tornado’s furious path
        Up sprang a house of mortar, brick and lath.

        Mere randomness and accident can’t make
        A cube of ice or even a snowflake
        Without some laws of nature implicate
        That fashion their components meet and fit.

        Just so it is this poem takes its form
        Because within the elements that storm
        About within the poet’s beating brain
        Is something formative that shapes a train
        Of thought by which the poem is designed:
        Implicit in all matter there lies mind.