…self-organized pattern formation is a feature of the cosmos:
the details may change but the basic processes stay the same.
Even granite possesses something of the feather,
yearning for flight in its mineral interior.
It feels wind brush its pocked surface
as it levers itself through crusts of ice
to the upper spheres, the stanza of horizon,
the clustered trees, the rivers’ alliteration.
Daily, for eons, it wills itself wings
and swears it feels nubs emerging.
It ignores dirt’s mockery, ridicule’s low
road, unafraid to flap like a crow,
ready to be but a speck in a murmuration,
knowing its lightness within,
a space at its core. Look again, tenderly.
See granite lift, no longer ungainly.