When You Come to the Bottom of the Well

If you are the sort of creature
Who, in the absence of a pond
Or a river, needed a well,

You might hang on a little while,
Hoping fresh water emerges,
But when it doesn’t, and you dig

Another well that comes up dry,
Possibly even another,
You cry. Then you die or move on,

Since the postponing of dying
Is what living bodies do best,
Indeed, not dying is living,

Once you’ve found you’re at the bottom
Of that well that you dug so well.

How to Forgive Humans

It’s tough to be creatures
Who see their end clearly
And can’t pretend they don’t.

Faith remains the needle
That sews the eyes of faith.
Self-harm’s for survival,

And profound faith isn’t
So bad, considering
Their lives’ alternatives.

You just wish the kittens
Had never become cats,
Never seen the inside

Of the rough burlap sack
They thought was mother’s tongue.

Climate

Then, after someone’s written
About everything and all
The others have said how they

Would have written differently
Or at least read it better,
With finer intonations,

Since they come from the people
Best at expressing themselves
On the most important things

People really need to say
And hear pronounced the best ways,
After all that, when you think

You know what’s important now,
Along floats another cloud,
Another meaningless cloud.

Even Supposing the Text in Question Was Known to Have Existed

Oral, mystical, commentarial,

It would be nice if we could trust your tongues

And skulls to save us. We’d rather trust stones

And ceramics, please, thank you very much,

If it’s all the same to you who must go

Back to dust yourselves, soon enough. Stamp us

Into clay, paint us on the walls of caves,

Anything to save your names or what you thought

You wanted us to say. You know of course

We’ll only say what those who find us think

You meant us to say, which is what they would

Like to say. Ok, as long as we stay.

Thin Hair in the Wind

Change mostly goes too slow
In most dimensions for
Human senses to follow,
And then it’s done. You start.
When did the days turn cool?

Where did the children go?
What happened to your world?
It’s not your fault, except
That a belief in faults
Is one of your core traits,

And so, in that sense, all
Faults are yours. Nonetheless,
You never invented
Your bodies, your senses,
Your little niche in which

You’re aware of changes.
Oddly, those are the things,
The kinds of things you do
Reprimand yourself for—
I should have been watching

The clock, the calendar.
I shouldn’t have just let
The time fly by like that.
Oh, and what would you have
Done better, mighty one?

Song of the Ways of Waves

We are not in this
Together. We are
This together. We

Don’t like that thought much.
We conceive ourselves—
Even those of us,

In some cases, who
Don’t think with language,
Maybe some of those

Who can’t properly
Be said to think—maws,
Hunger, and we are.

We think of teams, sides,
Helpers, hunters, prey.
If we think we’re this

Together, we think
Of who’s with us or
Who’s in our way, but

Only rarely who
We could all be said
Together to be.

Together we are
All this roiling thing,
Everything it sings.

If There’s an Outside, It’s Not Clearly Interfering

Using whatever appendages
Work for you, sense whatever you can
Of the contrasting ways the waves move,

As reflections, as incandescence.
Incandescence lights up from within,
Requires fuel, consumes it, and sends out

Radiations in all directions.
Reflections are all interruptions
Of incandescent radiations,

Absorbing some and bouncing some back
In differently angled directions.
And that’s it. That’s the way the waves move

Anywhere near or far, anciently
Or recently, given any means
You’ve been able to use to sense them.

Notice anything interesting,
Anything missing? There’s no outside
Source to any of them, no great lamp

Or oscillator that’s positioned
To one side of the cosmos, pouring
Energy in, no external source.

All the small pots of incandescence
And all the supermassive black holes
Lie scattered around in burning fields,

Nothing entering, nothing peering
Into them, poking or stirring them.
Reflect on this. All burns from within.