|Oct/Nov 2004 • Poetry|
An Evening Clue for the Overlearned
Stars blink with their own light—not us.
Also after the cosmic fuel has run out,
the finish has arrived,
all has turned to silence and stillness.
Our veins harbor the compendium of a species,
our brains—a whole universe.
The Egyptian magnificence,
The Divine Comedy,
Deep Purple In Rock.
How dreary to hope against hope
for a second bite at the cherry!
Doors will close on everybody's little world,
while stars will keep on blinking.
And there's no man, animal,
or any living being whatever
that can take a look beyond,
or guess, or inly know.
Someplace down below somebody's waiting on,
somewhere between now and eternity.
And if the rain should cease,
the stone would be wet all the same,
the flame would be doused all the same.
Sh... we'd better set our minds at rest!
Sh... just listen on...
the perennial tictac glides along.