They squiggle and curve 

I just adore natural curves 

as they squiggle and curl, 

strait lines defiant of human referrals. 

Freely going this way or that way, 

and sometimes the other. 

Almost as if a circle was their father 

and a fractal was their mother. 

Maybe they remind me of how a flower’s pedal swerves, 

the graceful bowing of swan’s heads  

in a meadow’s rippling contours. 

The bending of time and space perpetually eternal. 

Condors’ ride in air streams with grace, 

wind movements caress bent wings, dance the sea gulls. 

The curve of the earth, a butterfly’s wing, 

the spots on a fawn inspires me to think. 

The sphere of life then is spiraling around itself, 

no structure, straight lines, or sharp angles are felt.

Positive and negative forces attract,

then our understanding begins. 

The beginning curves on the circle’s edge,

destined to meet the end, 

creating the wisdom that evolves us

around and around again and again.