The Pearly Gates

No one ever asked the grain
Of sand whether it wanted
To be forever entombed

In layers of calcified
Oyster mucus. Maybe not.
Maybe it wanted to drift

Forever on the sea floor,
Anonymous, with billions
Of anonymous sand grains.

They Could Become Good Cats

It’s what the monks and mindful
Want to quiet at the start—

The freewheeling, compulsive,
Speculative daydreamer

And worrier, spinning out
Scenarios from each bit

Of shift in information,
Each new possibility.

As soon as everything’s set,
And there’s a plan fixed in place,

The speculation races
Around the skull, pouncing on

Scenes in which it all goes wrong,
Implausible fantasies

That leap higher than life can,
Down in a heap like kittens

Wrestling, mewling in the brain
That they wake at all small hours.

The monk would like some quiet.
But don’t evict the kittens.

The Probability of Mercy Can’t Be Explained

Sometimes, human
Wants and wishes
Froth such a mess,
Ginumerous,

Boiling kettles
Of soap bubbles,
It’s not only
That they all can’t

Possibly be
Granted—they fizz
The world senseless
With stochastic

Kindness, random
Meanness, confused
Bequests. Want’s why
Grace can’t make sense.

Mad Vice

Pounce on any phrase that’s strange.
Bite down on it like it’s prey.
Be feline. Give it some play.
Let it try to run away.

Nope. Rope it right back again.
Roll it over. Chuck its chin.
Dig a poem to store it in.
Find another phrase to close.

Clean Up on Isle Earth

Coyotes. Rock pigeons. Cockroaches. Mice.
Unsung heroes of the insurrection,
The synanthropes you can’t exterminate,
No matter how many you trap and kill,
Can’t drive extinct, no matter how you try.

To them you are merely death, while to you
They are the principle itself of life—
Almost four billion years death’s been trying
And failing to put a full stop to life.
Life plays both sides, feeds death lives to buy time.

You silly gambit in the teeth of life.
You life-autopruning mechanism.
Your synanthropes will outline the hollow
That once was you, the way fungi and moss
Briefly outline skeletons sunk and lost.

Unimportant Universe

Rotating into the emptier
Night skies of winter in the northern
Hemisphere, glance up and consider

How easy it was to believe the stars
Dragged fortunes around with them,
Including the fortunes of kingdoms,

Including your own small fortunes.
Now, they’re unimportant, lights
And objects of contemplation,

And if your fortune and misfortune
Were to depend on them again
It would only be if an emissary

Of some unknowable kind happened
To touch Earth in your short lifetime.

All Lives Are Political

The tiny lives driving

The big ones, why should this

Surprise anyone in

A species that itself

Has mastered the technique

Of manipulating

Greater beasts—those horses

And bison, killer whales

Doing tricks at Sea World?

Still, when you discover

Toxoplasma can jump

From cougars to the wolves

That sometimes kill cougars

And then alter the wolves’

Behaviors, taste for risk,

So that the infected

Are more likely to lead

Their packs, explore new turf,

Maybe kill more cougars,

It gives you a small chill.

Could it be possible

The human animals

At the fore of your world

Are shaping your systems

Thanks to some zoonotic

Transmission of steering

Microorganisms?