Measure Me

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.