If I had my way

If I had my way, I’d cleave
the great world’s stone heart.
Resolutely I would take
the correct hammer, a chisel
forged harder than any metal
or fusion of metals yet known,
honed sharp, sharper than
any hone has yet to edge,
and with these, pound, cut,
and excise its mammoth heart
at the rutting season
when the moon is full and high.
I’d grind it stone fine,
mix the powder in water,
and swallow the rivering.
I’d carry the deed to term,
and give birth in self-epoch
to a different kind of heart,
a glorious feather-light thing
able to beat as do wings
aware of flying power:
the existence given, its need
of wings, of life whose joy
is life-loving, is gladness
driven to know itself.