Real

In Richard Dawkins's exultation of science
He declares "There is real poetry in the real world,"
And it burns in his eyes
Wildly

There is real poetry in the real world
Moments when we are all revolving
(When we are all revolting, when we are all being overthrown
When we are falling and rising sometimes
at once)
When we find the (the what?) in the everyday
When we find the 
         In the pattern
When we write to one another truly or lie through our teeth
All things are telling
Real poetry
When we break, when we come clean, when we bend to the world
When we show ourselves unaugmented, uncensored, uncultured
All rough edges and mistakes and awkward patches of
Sunlight coming through
Real poetry
All early mornings and late nights and tomorrows and
Somedays and days when we come home to tired to breathe all
Concrete and dawn and freckles and stained glass and stains
And rote habit and routine
All of these human things
All of these humans
Burning
Wildly