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Sunday, April 10, 2011
we are
inseparable from the morning air
we are
a spray of blood on the pavement
just a switch in the breeze
through broken glass windows and down
the subway (the speeding current runs
beneath our feet,
beneath our feet
the rush and then the wait
the wait and then the speeding rush.
called to the bench, we
sit on the upper boughs, where
the people look like ants and then
we smoke cigarettes and talk about the weather:
close your eyes.
there is nothing but the weather.
we are
nothing but the weather
the hot sounds of wet cars
and the wet sounds of
boots in the long dark puddles
that shine back the bright life of the air-
This is our reckoning of the largeness
the vastness
and the tall air, the morning
So the prayer call. so the bells
so the mosques in fading lunar light
so the ringing, the chiming, the tolling, the ringing,
the call to waking,
a thousand million million pressing
their feet against the carpet
and each one was you, they opened their eyes stickily
eating, eating,
sitting, sitting, swallowing
close your eyes. it is too much of being
to deal with before breakfast cereal.
you hunker down to a spoonful,
you chew,
you realise
that-
it is-
good-
sweet-
full-
close your eyes.
There will be a tomorrow.