Solomon Grundy

Born on Monday and a tiny

world-containing grain of light

passed through each eye like heaven through a needle.

And on Tuesday

he screamed for a small ear in which to hide.

He rolled on Wednesday, rolled his whole body

full of immense salt spaces, slowly

from one horizon to the other.

And on Thursday, trembling, crippled,

broke beyond his given strength and crawled.

And on Friday he stood upright.

And on Saturday he tested a footstep

and the sky came down and alit on his shoulder

full of various languages in which one bird doesn’t answer to another.

And on Sunday he dreamed he was flying

and his mind grew gold watching the moon

and he began to sing to the brink of speaking

Source: Spacecraft Voyager 1 (Graywolf Press, 2007)