Limit to Hubris

Space probes

shot in the dark

plumb My outer 'limits.'

(Conquest,

mindless, heartless:

male rabbits outlining

stolen territory

with pellets of metal,

fecal colonists...)

You will find I Am the Cosmic Bouncer,

trampoline of transformation!

Your probes will 'hit a wall,'

return to sender,

slamming

one implacable container

(My sanity and love)

shape of My womb that holds you safe.

What? not a perfect sphere!

What then? an egg?

changing amoeba, living cell,

expanding and contracting,

breathing, giving birth,

guiding maternal hand swatting,

question mark? a smile?

My spiral sucks all in,

and spits detritus out.

I conform reality

within My wise, dynamic,

creative shape.

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018