Let the universe be random;
Let no choreographer impose
design on the dance of atoms;
Let the stars’ prophecies, the old dead light
skew past our lives;
If the lines on the palms of our hands
be life charts, let them swerve
like rivers when we touch;
no, not touch: collide.
Julie Kane
from her book Body and Soul
(Pirogue Publishing, 1987)
used with permission of the poet
and with permission of Pirogue Press