Now comes the time
Of passage - the egg
Breaks from its protective
Membrane and
Travels, called from a warm cocoon
To unspool 
Into darkness, to wash
Into oblivion.  Just enough room
To be virgin and perfect -
To spin down in time
Immune and packed
With possibility.  Nature is not
Spendthrift with her gifts.
She luxuriates and gives.
Her skein of memory
Clings to us - a 
Spider's web of gossamer
And spun silk threads
That intertwine.  O vulnerable
Carrier of my true
Potential, your dark passage leads
To light or death; to birth or
Flush, your envisioned
Face and feelings are
The last link in the 
Chain of genes and 
Ancestry which
Flow into you.  They all
Spun down to exit
One by one in human or
A lunar spasm and were lost.
I mourn my own poor egg's
Perfection that was burst and
Born.  Look how far my 
Own dark passage
Bore me, my own sphere
Of idyll is undone.
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