I stole an egg.
Wanted its cool perimeter
where my hand could wander,
never discover start or finish;
both lay safe
inside, almost visible
through a green wall, cupped
in the shield
of its curvature.
Heedless, we took them all
egg after egg
for freckled loveliness,
the weight of what
they held, the gentle flop
when you turn an egg
in your palm.
Little strongrooms,
each one filled
with a viscous sea,
in each a fleck of life
sucking thick yellow light
from its own sun.
.
Alex Josephy
.