calvert cliffs, maryland: 1998
the falling sun gives me a paper-cut,
as it try to grab it by a scorching edge,
while delicately headstanding
on a birdshat ledge.
fardown beneath: not quite oblivion,
not yet arrival.
if human survival
is the myth of our age
then the diurnal passing of a sage
should be the greatest outrage.
only a sage can make the moon start to croon
and sprinkle famished fields with dewdrops.
only a sage can transcend the temptations of rage
that appear on every magazine's front page.
only a sage can never exist
she must come from way above
from a cumulus cloud
that is far beyond love.
for love is only a fallacy
that we accept with both eyes closed
so that we can disguise our mortality
and soften the blows
of universal abnormality.
