Tar-baby

Tar-baby

Where did this boy, this man, slow and smoldering tar-baby, come from?

An exhaustive search by my wife and I conclude

that he is ours.

Recognizable traits

can be traced back to us.

The genetic signs all point to common ancestors

but environment has strangely tuned him—

like a sinew pine grown

on a hillside

in the wind

or a blast of trees spindly in a sandy grove

angled in unison

bent into the sunlight.

For hours we have spoken

and spoken…

searching for an emotional dew-point

a spot at which relief forms

in clear droplets.

For years (could it be years already?)

we have tugged at our hearts,

plucked up at the downbeat

ranted

raved and

tapped out time

in search of resonance.

The hum.

A sweet sine.

Science claims the real world

while He, his mom and me

reside in a parallel universe

without physics

or biology.

Where the Earth is flat

and at the center of the world

is a tar-baby--

in a clear patch

among the thorns--

I can not help but touch.