The Last Line

Circular Reasoning

You may find it, and know it when you find it—I can’t tell

Where the world begins or ends, but I seek both still,

Laughing while I look, imminent failure, eminent me.

There’s that rocking horse reasoning, that situation

Of no point. It’s like the rose you want to own: cut the stem

And you kill it. It may bloom for you, open in its grief,

But it’s lost to its purpose, and you to true knowledge.

It’s a simile for time, or maybe thought. Layers on layers

Of minutes—…—what you aren’t now, you might be later,

If you leave it be, let it be, and let it come to the blossoming.

Arriving at a Conclusion

Resilient, stubborn perhaps. Instead, I blink at the brightening

Sky and the easing morning, decide to surrender. Vast at once

Within and without, I am taking it in—-a warbler’s waking

Somewhere west, behind me, unseen (both west and warbler).

I can see…something there: my mind and the reflection of birds

Sliding over the sky. There’s no excuse for indifference, you know,

Or for ignorance of the things you don’t see. Reaching for the real,

You may find it, and know it when you find it—I can’t tell. 

Morning Breakers

Coldness, and my own perceptions in the surf,

The early morning shush and hiss of sand

And the force of water. I’m staring straight

At the wave, and it will insist on breaking,

Returning. I could fight the sea, Cuchulain-like,

In my passion, an immortal act of mortal futility.

 

But love is the gull that floats beyond the breaker,

Ghost-gray on gray water, light as the morning star—

Resilient, stubborn perhaps. Instead, I blink. 

What There Is

Rending the thing in my energy,

I sit in judgment: Useful or not?

The time or no? I’ll shed no tears

For what’s not. But I will for what

Is, and I’ll seize that joy now, use

Its benediction, its true existence---

I’m shocked by the hungry ghosts

Of the past and tired of explaining.

Come to me now, sweet soaring

Vocals of the sorrowful song, sun

On my open palm, smell of gardenias,

I embrace the godless air hovering

Above the restless sea, the mist

Of the conflict between warmth,

Coldness, and my own perceptions.