KITCHEN TABLE CREDO

It is Night,
And the darkness
Outside my white kitchen window
Is the outer fringe of my universe.

There is a time and space
Appointed from above
For the ashtray on the table,
As symbol and object:
The world wouldn't be the same 
Except for this sand
Turned into glass,
Fruit of the earth,
Which human hands have made.

Infinity is syphoned
Into circumstance:
There is a pair of sunglasses
On the kitchen table,
A greeting card,
An ashtray and cigarettes;
Everything is in place
And time appointed from above,
For the Divine is in this room,
In the light in my brain,
In the busy silence
Of this space-time continuum.
Billions of sub-atomic particles
Are acting out a cosmic drama
Which deserves an Oscar.

Everything is connected
In the chain of existence:
Me, you, the living, the dead,
The kitchen table, China,
Cosmic rays, the galaxies,
And the humming electricity
And hushed roar of the city,
OM of a technological divinity;
Everything is connected
Through divine love.

I light up a cigarette:
It is not stale,
And yet billions of years old.

Robert M. Smith

smitty@total.net