Labyrinth
Tomorrow,—by reason of rapture.
Rapture—by reason of pain.
There is tomorrow in it
and we look away.
There is tomorrow in the one
God-given stone, and we look away.
When we look away we look into
the past. We get down on our knees
in sorrow. We are much too stunned
to pray. The truth about today
was a bright stone shining—.
By reason of nightmare, by reason
of pain, by reason of wit revisited.
By reason of madness, whosoever
begins shall be asked to finish.
The Origin
of what happened is not in language—
of this much I am certain.
Six degrees south, six east—
and you have it: the bird
with the blue feathers, the brown bird—
same white breasts, same scaly
ankles. The waves between us—
house light and transform motion
into the harboring of sounds in language.—
Where there is newsprint
the fact of desire is turned from again—
and again. Just the sense
that what remains might well be held up—
later, as an ending.
Twice I have walked through this life—
once for nothing, once
for facts: fairy-shrimp in the vernal pool—
glassy-winged sharp-shooter
on the failing vines. Count me—
among the animals, their small
committed calls.—
Count me among
the living. My greatest desire—
to exist in a physical world.
