7/13/2016

all the noisy birds of this
world fly above the water.
a loon surfaces on the lake
dark being with an eye
like a garnet. it says, "no matter 
how many times I surface
nothing sustains me here. 
all the real food is down down down"
and dives. seeing it vanish relieves 
me of all these lead tombstones
all the doing we do. somewhere
else, the earth is turning, people are
making Great Plans. the machines
we make keep telling us what
machines we should make. 
the Buddha says "shhhh. trouble
is son, you think you have time."
before my grandparents died
they began to exist more in
the morning and evening. 
by midday they were already
gone. there isn't a ripple
on the water at those hours. 
the depths are as blue as tired blood
returning to a heart. 
it's a miracle we don't die
of exhaustion every night
clenching and clenching. 
but listen, every lake tells the same story:
"let me lean out over the water
just a little more," said the cedar. 
"my reflection was so sweet but
now I am in love with falling in."
​