Friday, October 18, 2019

A Movement Somewhere Off

A primitive assonance
     turns into a song
Like eucalyptus leaves
     start to wave with longing.

Most of us,
     never having learned the techniques
Of turning words
     out of dumb earth
And deeds
     from spellbound people,
Just go about feeling the loss,
     the continuous absence,
Of what, somehow, should be,

Until some rabbit comes along
     from underneath the hedges
To symbolize what's larger
     than we dimly realize;
We credit our eyes,
     for what we carry
To someone, from somewhere.

After a time it will make sense,
The world will seem three-dimensional,
That is, we will submit
     to the polity of its logic,
As if it exists,
     as if existence is
     to count as true.