the foxgloves explode
in infinite slow motion [silently]
from them also we can learn
the soft crash and save ourselves
from the genius suicide:
the brief fame of a supernova
…
intermittent rain keeps the land fecund,
a deluge cleanses to the bedrock,
rain in perpetuity is impossible
and we think we can control this
but we live at one speed,
and measure in standard units:
our language is insufficient
to give a precise reflection
…
to assume our laws are true beyond appeal
puts into question our democratic process
we forget the necessity of conversation
the original Greek ideal of the agora;
to meet friends and argue is the point, is it not, of life,
of all this noise, after all, what use is silence?
…
our luxury of having the exercise of our conscience
is subsidised by the suffering of a multitude other
..and yet
when we all speak with one
language / currency / voice
there is no poetry anymore
no rhyme, no metre, no form
in this Heaven only, [on Earth], we are united
for Czeslaw Milosz