Only Parallel

The afternoon was slipping past
In gliding ceremonial
Movements of the magnificent,

Hinting at the weight of a crown,
Light the only crown on its head.
A northern flicker scratched its call,

While the parade of vehicles
Up the mountain road paralleled
The parade of vehicles down.

Systems were rising and falling
As seething people seethed in them,
And if you left these pines’ shadows

To climb inside those vehicles
And listen to their radios
You might have heard of civil war

Or the death of democracy,
The overdue end of the world.
But no. You watched the regal light

Of a star that you doubt could care
Less about the pebbles circling
Its furnace. You heard a flicker.

A View from an Organelle

What has been observed

Of St Benedict’s

Rule goes for all rules—

They survive only

If the exceptions

Immediately

Follow. Flexible

Orders, like junk-strewn

Genomes, have a chance

To mutate in time;

Facultative rules

Of development

Have a chance to bend

To the circumstance.

A successful game

Will be specific

And provisional.

Lives themselves are games

Or models for games,

Ancestral to games—

First, a boundary

Around the vortex,

And then the inside

Rules vs. outside.

All cells are porous;

Ideologies

As well. Successful

Examples handle

Pores elegantly.

True competition

Roars on among whole

Games, however, not

Among organelles.

The Self-Domesticating Genius

Thin-lipped, large-eyed,
Mono-browed, smooth,
Youthful marble
Cheeks, wavy hair—

Ninana of
Eanna, five
Or so thousand
Years ago, you

Were the goddess
Who needed us
As servants, made
For you who made

You to order
Ourselves so we
Would remember
To worship you.

How Good to See You Here

Good is only ever in the givens.
Given this, that, and the other thing, then
Something is relatively good enough,
Something is relatively good or not.

Lucky for you, life’s nothing but givens.
Given your life at this moment, right now,
What happens next could well be good enough,
Good enough, at least, whether good or not.

You thought you made the decision to go,
And then it didn’t work out. Nonetheless,
Given it didn’t work out, aren’t you glad

You didn’t go, you couldn’t go, given
All the good events that have happened since?
Given you’re here, that’s good experience.

Dear Confusion

Caro bell’idol mio,
Everything new’s old again.
This dark morning before dawn,

A new day, incredibly
Ancient in every feature—
Lozenge moon, few stars, brisk winds—

Haven’t you seen us before?
It’s not that there’s nothing new
Under the dawn’s arrival,

It’s just that everything new—
And it is all, always, new—
Is also already old.