The dishwasher hums and the laundry’s put away.
Clean sheets, clean cutlery. A puddle of dust
on the hardwood, but the dog is on my lap
and a drowsy rain perfumes the house.
A farmer starved to death waiting for the perfect time to reap /
a perfect harvest. He was a kind man, a poet. /
The community rallied, brought fresh bread, cakes,…
One can almost forget the future
in the glow of a Pacific sunset,
forget how quickly placid waves turn brutal,
that waters are stubborn as facts, immune to prayer
One may well ask what good standing here.
How does reason answer to madness?
A hot shower can erase the cold but not
the shiver. Is it not better to fast than go hungry?
I want to rest on the shore
until the urchins break skin
and the salt seeps in.
To secure a future we must understand
The difference between terror and fear.
Walk into a room and hear a snake’s sudden hiss,
See it squirming in a dark corner, two reptilian eyes
Piercing darkness like fangs in search of your
We adults know the future is bleak.
Have jobs, families, to-do lists.
Do what we can.
Know in our hearts that
It’s not enough.
There is an uneasy truce:
He wields the razor,
I pay the tip.
I’m not going to argue the absurd, argue
That things are bad or going to get better.
We live in an age of immutable belief shaped
To write is to argue without evidence that beauty
pervades: the rainforest and the killing field,
sunsets and floods of acid rain on I-95.