Measure me, oh Maker.
Measure me at three AM,
in the shower,
on the road,
during breakfast,
making love.
Stand me barefoot at the wall;
lower the boom to kiss my crown,
while I stretch my spine upwards,
heels pressed down tight.
Set me laid bare on the balance
while you heap diamonds
on the pan until even,
and the glittering carbon glares enviously across.
Submerge me in Archimedes’ tub
where sparkling warmth
caresses my skin and runneth over
splashing “Eureka!” on the tile.
Press gently the pulse at my wrist
counting silently the deep-time seconds
lips absently forming the numbers
of the ancient flow inside.
Let me feel the cool tailor’s tape
and the backs of your practiced fingers
on my ribs, my waist, my hips, my
whole being tingling, blushing.
Calibrate my calcium core
against the limestone bedrock
articulate the tendons from depths to peaks
and back to an ocean of stars.
Pour me steaming into pyrex,
discount my meniscus,
jot me in your margins,
plot me on logarithmic axes.
Determine with vernier sextant
my molecules’ angular alignment
with the infinite soul’s arrow
from Then through Now to Then.
Take my measure, Creator.
Show me again and again
I am both ocean and rain
smaller and vaster, stiller and faster,
fleeting photon and untracked cosmos.
Take my measure, dear One, and
Deliver me beyond measure.
