Reasoning with Whirl

Outside the window pane, the sun glows
golden-green upon the leaves
that dance so lightly in the breeze.

The trees bow to the soft-blown air,
a little curtsy to the fiddler,
though to the passing wind
it's all the same:

to gently flutter leaves,
or rip their limbs off howling
and heap their splintered heads in piles.

Wind whistles to the rhythms
of the dance of heartless gods unseen:
gravity and enthalpy,
the spinning of the earth.

If trees in their distress could pray,
to whom should they? Or we?
How does one pray to gravity?
In what direction genuflect?

What chant is there for us to sing
to still the roaring waves of molecules,
to tame the whirling world?

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Randy Minnich is a retired research chemist and chemistry professor. He now focuses on writing, environmental issues, and grandchildren. He is a member of the Squirrel Hill Poetry Workshop and has published two books, Wildness in a Small Place and Pavlov's Cats: Their Story. His poetry has appeared in Main Street Rag, Pearl, U.S. 1 Worksheets, Blueline, and other publications. He seems to be writing more about aging, these days, and suspects it's because his friends are getting old.