And of the Little That We Do
God of the dew and the dew’s disappearance of the pelican walking a pier and the next day’s tsunami of a face caught in…
Teeny-tiny mouse feet run along my ceiling
in rapidly fluttery pitty-pats
God’s dimension is so vast all the
ticking clocks face sideways
There’s a sound in the universe so pure
only one of us can hear it
Way at the end there
that silhouette of someone
standing against the moon
When you lift pen to paper
the savannah floods with light
If we’re only visiting for a short time
will our echoes elongate behind us?
There’s a shack blown down by the wind
all its nails shrieking
When the scrolls are unrolled
everything will come clear
Will we be there?
(There go those mouse feet again above me
Is he in such a hurry
to find my mousetrap?
If he pokes far enough in
he won’t be able to get out
I let them loose in the woods
at the end of our street
Little tiny creatures
with delicate finger-and-toe nailed feet)
1/30/2008 (from The Fire Eater’s Lunchbreak)
Categories: Poems