A Disquieting Understanding of Life

*

The decrescendo of insects is gradual, proportional to the lightening of the sky until false dawn wakes the birds and the bats. I wonder at vague concepts – evolution versus design – and decide the brain is an organ of shortcomings. Inward enough to reach the depths of pain; an incapable witness of its own electricity.

*

Wheel and dam. Wheel and dam. Every suffering’s origin is water. The mother whose water breaks. The water that drowns the strongest swimmer. The water I pulled into the sinuses and the lungs by the palm-full. Rationalizing the irrational death – wide-eyed to the scenery of his last moments, assuring and reassuring that after the discomfort came the hushed awe of green.

*

We tell ourselves anything to forcefully align our worldviews with an uncaring world. The poem that makes sense of the spider that spins and re-spins its web nightly until rain floods the home, destroys silken certainties. Patterns organize howling. Why do we have the larynx, the longing? Who builds the canals to listen?

*

Here I am, driven to cover myself immodestly in leaflets. O, poet across space-time, we meet in the garden come to life so deep in the void, few have dived far enough to reach it. Cloaked in galaxies, shedding stars and thorns. The pattern of my being is this: detached, asexual, until I reach you by word and voice. Here I am; can we converge and speak of how sexual it all is? Organs clinging wet – the sheen of the dew on this grass, this rising sunlight that guides bare feet. O, I feel it right

*

here. Wildflowers grow abundantly, perfectly nurtured by nature. The potted plants under my care are drying out and dying. Husks of their former beautiful selves fall down – to love is to shrivel. In balance lies wisdom. Here lies imbalance, born naked, crying, attached umbilical and biblical.

*

And I am so sorry for the molecules that group and re-group wrongfully. So few of us are granted the dignity and closure of last words. It would make sense that what flees from the abandoned conch is the entire sea in an incomprehensible rippling –

 

Published in Turk's Head Review.

Muslim Apologies

Afterlife