We are protected from so much pain. For example: graves.
The earth’s roots and brown-black blood are busy
covering the soft, violated bodies of our loves.
Death is a secret, and the rain with its many hands
washes off the streets to the gutters death’s thick surprise.
The automatic shutter of the eye never fails,
the courtesies of the tongue. What goes on in the rooms of houses
is guarded from us by the hardwood doors,
the carefully closed windows. Whatever was said or done,
night will come, eagerly, to clean up.
And death will shield us, in time,
from the sun’s megalithic promise:
Tomorrow, the same day.
Tomorrow, the same day.
For example: A flower
is the most beautiful lie.