Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Saturday, November 10, 2012

You already know this

be it known that the dead clutter the sidewalks
but for the wind and rain 
we would gambol like sandpipers
among the slender bones of the leaves
careening about the shore-break;
death is everywhere apparent:
autumn's gift to winter's sorrow
we cannot dodge each lapping wave

we think of ghosts as other
but we are ghosts in training
our vanishing a promise perfected,
we look back at the now bare trees
our bones of bark, our mother/father
what are we but the falling?

the cemetery of the forest
is also the maternity ward--
the place of seeds and rot
growth and decay
these twins do not peer through glass at each other
they are each other
they do not segregate their prayers
or stand in different doorways
waiting to be let in--
they are in

poor sad and idle thoughts!
poor relations to the cause!
you can't unbend the rivers
or unbuild the sky
better to be laid in the ground
better to stop pretending
much more is the find
much more is the heaven
that rots inside you
building ramps from hell to paradise
 and back again!

in autumn there are mists
but only for a time--
is eternity so opaque
as to defy our witness?
no, yes, no, yes?

lift up the fallen leaves
feel the moist earth
shake hands with your own shadow
tremble with the cold
smile with your secret:
your secret is safe



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