Shorter, but they will. If you live
Until the winter, you’ll feel them
Get quite short, then again longer,
But not if you switch latitudes,
Hemispheres, sail the equator.
The bombing continues. Burning
Wildfires throw ash near the places
You’ve already lived for some years.
Maybe here. Maybe you won’t be
Here. Your next shift in perspective
Won’t be quite so academic.
There was a guy down at the shore,
Potbellied, bald, in a ball-cap,
Sunglasses, and Hawaiian shirt,
Who accosted you, earnestly,
To ask how you are, where you’ve been,
And then to start rambling to you
About war and politicians.
He asked you whether you believed,
As scientist, in certain things.
You asked, Do I believe in dogs?
He barked a laugh but didn’t ask
Just what in hell you meant by that.
You wanted to say, what you don’t
Describe as question of belief
Is your tell, betrays perspective.
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