Archive for September, 2013

The Salt Truck

September 22, 2013

Suppose we lived in an endless, bottomless sea,
a sea so clear the horizon deceived us
into thinking that dry land could
be found by swimming towards the sun.
We’d leave no messages behind now, would we?
Such thoughts would seem to be mere poetry,
a name wrote in water by the water.
Led by the sun, we’d turn and turn, only to
return each night to the same churning sea.
How can you breed and breathe and drink the air
and think it clean—a substance all its own—
while the sun’s illusions dazzle you
with the perfumes of perfection? Look up.
The moon could be like the salt truck that comes
to preserve us every night from the soil’s decay.
The stars could be like porphyry left there
for us to laugh about, like elephants
bejeweled, like an old philosopher
who thinks philosophy will keep us all afloat.

Regular Microbes

September 11, 2013

They could exist all day beneath
the earth’s limbs, and think of sunshine
only as the brute force it is:
so quiet in its precision, so tight
against the curve of the sea,
so lonely as it starts to ebb away,
the wind a kind of collar left
next to a dog’s bone,
barely above silence—

They could exist forever
and not rise to ask,
is the sun a person?
Or can some things be outside the self,
daydreams of the empyrean?