A tree is falling down
somewhere, always – the bark
perhaps shed – no matter
whatever the state – all
trees fall at some time – or
decay takes them slowly
the point is – all that noise
all that lost feeling calls
out louder than grass growth
louder than the mushroom’s
creaking love of all life
ingesting – and bright plants
– they swarm in a dancing
wind and send small sermons
out from damp petals – out
in the clouded darkness
out in the beading rain
every single gold day.
There are arguments made –
witness the ant’s rebuke
to the flat earth’s respite
witness the air breathing
the whole flotilla in
and with a breath again
this shout of all star-fall.
Billion years refute still
longer still years – it’s mad
considering the dark
to look at this strong joy
at all this cafuffle
A plane beams – a car moans
a shed settles – notice;
while all this can be changed
there is still the moment
when you unwrap a gift
hear the rain’s soft shuffling.
Sometimes it hurts
To be caught alone in the morning coughing
Waking from some tangle-dream, sweating;
To be unable to breathe, as these lungs betray you.
Heart rate rising, you stagger downstairs
(after a moment long with quiet indecision)
Sputtering sparks of panic,
Hoping not to ignite the aura, the gas of despair
(and die writhing on the floor, imagination says)
As if your whole life was but a dream to make
The illness take its full effect, this pain
An exposition dump, whose only purpose is to build the horror,
To a level where it seems you have lived it.
At how easily a life is knotted,
And the rope left to fall, useless by the wakeside,
Dangling in cold water,
Perhaps cut and left in the waves,
To sink slowly into the gloom,
Motionless into the gloom.
This pale ordeal has one redeeming feature,
And one dark condition.
Brought near by breathing deeply,
Deep enough to test the roll;
Where did the dice fall?
The condition? Recovery.
That hidden clause of all life’s illness,
When lacking, shaken, chaos plays.
And the redeemer?
This glorious shelter from the burning sun,
A deep breath, whose mostly silent joy seeps throughout me,
As oxygen soothes and body tentatively smoothes.
Maybe it was worth it for this, but only maybe,
To reveal to me one unnoticed minor bliss.