Ingratitude




When you see your Mother in your
Lover’s eyes you are granted
A wish:  Come to
Or run aground on this ageless
Earth; We have
borrowed our Essence from
Some divine Source -- it
Hurts Us here, in
The gut;  we tumble
Through vast clouds ironing
Out our Smiles as if
On loan from
Some secret Silence unabated
But serene -- the Grinding
ache of a long leisure
Unsteady and foreclosed -- Who
would proclaim an
Angel’s whim Surfacing from
The tide?  Are
We alone in this, our Certitude?
The poppies bloom
and the wild grass preens
there, surely shifting
in the wind; Why do you
hold your Lips there, buoyant
with a kiss?
Which needle is sharp enough
to pierce your skin?  The hurting
abrasion of a skinned knee
says all that needs be said; these
icons glowing
in the air lift our bodies wholly floating
in celestial spheres
Unnoticed; how can
your mind unwind itself
and, looking backward, proclaim
its innocence?  We who are wise
with incongruity
last just long enough
to spear a fish
with our bamboo pole --