Friday, November 20, 2015

But Come, Let Us March Confidently Forward!

We're not going to nag you about it. No.
We're not going anywhere, not really.

We're a fiction in search of characters.
We're the remains of juniper branches

We burned in the hearth on the cliff ourselves,
Never doubting someone would come notice

Our damp, discreetly ashen black remains.
Here we were, bunked down with the pack rats, glad

For a bit of temporary shelter
We could pretend we could stand forever.

Every ant, every amoeba, every
Bacterium is an army moving

On its stomach, every stomach as greased
In its own fashion as the fat-slicked scales

Of well-evolved snake bellies whispering
Questions we pretend the Great God did not

Want us to answer or hear over here
In the heart of the garden we knew well

Enough to name in terms betokening
Wonder that any garden grew from stones

At all. Come. We must arise and go now,
If only because all nows disappear.

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