Ensoulment or the Omaha Pebble Society

We landed on the sun
and realized we were
actually built on butter.
The problem wasn't our
uneven coloring but
we kept melting
and losing collagen
to the big boy.
Plastic surgeons
are innovative but
come on lemonade
is a far aisle
from those fancy,
refined carbs.

We landed on the moon
and it felt like a soccer cleat.
We would just be
quickening to the moon's entombment.
Reminded of tubes
that feed jelly,
too primordial and
too futuristic,
pediatrics and geriatrics,
all using the same entrance.

We landed on the sea.
It was the first time
reflections mattered.
I got so into my eyes
looking blue
I nearly drowned.
Then I sucked up
the salt and I couldn't
tell the blue sea from red capillaries.

The rock landed on us.
It leavened, hardened,
and we divided.
The First Supper
or maybe the last.
I skip my pebble,
all flat nosed,
smooth skin,
and remember evaporation.
You'll spend your
whole life
trying to evaporate.
Stay in sweat lodges
until feathers bend.
Run marathons
before central air.
Maybe if we drip
enough salt
we'll be sucked into
the rock.

It's inconvenient,
really, we find a home
and we find transformation.