I am surprised to find you like
similar
things. Liking being
a sort of seeing
we agree
adds value to the seen thing,
the noticed, see,
odd
thing we both see at times, like
failed
corrective measures taken too late,
leave a
… mark on a stone. patina red as mars,
scratched away, a thousand years ago…
Empty swirl, wordless,
holds now the whole story,
told to
me, after all that came before,
all the histories and mysteries and wars.
Major catastrophes,
each taken personally as much smaller
on the scale of human events.
Minor tugs from a star so far we only now imagined
at
such
distance, anything being at all.
--------
Only everyone you knew
died.
Everyone did not die, but how could you
have known
now was pending, even then, as now.
See.
What we do
now, regarding wrongs that never had a link
to right, do we make
next,
or wait to see if we were
left behind, or
was nothing meaningful for now,
survived by signals to seers,
saying, see we came this way.
Nothing is behind us,
pushing.
We do not flee, we wander,
hither and yon and back,
tilling soil with a pointed stick, to plant three sisters
where the river left some mud,
black with mulch from the beaver's dam, that sent us
driftwood
for our fire, while we wait.
--------- no names remain to mark the stone as owned,
we claim it ours,
we possess this space in time, if you mind
or if you even
think
you mind matters beyond your mortal ken, out there
from where your last lie lay told
I know, I know, we all believe we know
we report,
open wide the portal, we run like Jehu, there is
peace
being made in the desert.
Come see, come see, listen winds singing
see,
we say see life, a little
tiny
bit of it, is you. Yes,
you the nobody, who hears such things and takes
the granted fact as evidence,
warranting a song.
To the good
to come of all my seed,
life with me is different than life without me shall be,
but here,
this place where the flood left a good harvest for such
as see
the future crouching at the door,
here I left the lines that drew you to this end.
-----------------
Feb 22, 2021
Feb 22, 2021 at 2:31 PM UTC
I am surprised to find you like
similar
things. Liking being
a sort of seeing
we agree
adds value to the seen thing,
the noticed, see,
odd
thing we both see at times, like
failed
corrective measures taken too late,
leave a
… mark on a stone. patina red as mars,
scratched away, a thousand years ago…
Empty swirl, wordless,
holds now the whole story,
told to
me, after all that came before,
all the histories and mysteries and wars.
Major catastrophes,
each taken personally as much smaller
on the scale of human events.
Minor tugs from a star so far we only now imagined
at
such
distance, anything being at all.
--------
Only everyone you knew
died.
Everyone did not die, but how could you
have known
now was pending, even then, as now.
See.
What we do
now, regarding wrongs that never had a link
to right, do we make
next,
or wait to see if we were
left behind, or
was nothing meaningful for now,
survived by signals to seers,
saying, see we came this way.
Nothing is behind us,
pushing.
We do not flee, we wander,
hither and yon and back,
tilling soil with a pointed stick, to plant three sisters
where the river left some mud,
black with mulch from the beaver's dam, that sent us
driftwood
for our fire, while we wait.
--------- no names remain to mark the stone as owned,
we claim it ours,
we possess this space in time, if you mind
or if you even
think
you mind matters beyond your mortal ken, out there
from where your last lie lay told
I know, I know, we all believe we know
we report,
open wide the portal, we run like Jehu, there is
peace
being made in the desert.
Come see, come see, listen winds singing
see,
we say see life, a little
tiny
bit of it, is you. Yes,
you the nobody, who hears such things and takes
the granted fact as evidence,
warranting a song.
To the good
to come of all my seed,
life with me is different than life without me shall be,
but here,
this place where the flood left a good harvest for such
as see
the future crouching at the door,
here I left the lines that drew you to this end.
-----------------
amused bemused well used to dance, in olden days... imagine life is more
Request permission to use this poem