We, confused by what we think, hardened by what we feel, atrophied by what we do, are living in reverse. How can this be set right? Surely those living backwards cannot make their current run forward again...
Her tiny body is very still. Even in the quiet of room uninhabited except by my anxious ears she makes no noise. Wrappings of blankets and folds of clothing-just a bit too big for her minuscule frame-drown any slight movements.
(more) And the question inevitably begins to loiter in the doorway of the mind. Unobtrusive at first, merely a suggestion. Surely its slight urgency is just a prodding of paranoia. Nothing to give any serious credence to. But thoughts of unpracticed, malfunctioning little lungs will assert themselves with mounting demands for attention. Concentration is impossible. The worst is so unlikely, but how could reparation be made for desultory neglect in such a moment?
Here the dam breaks and the question drives me to stir her agonizingly wrought slumber-precious because it is such a delicate difficult thing- whispering compulsively, "Is she breathing?!".
Yet I am careful, because I very much do not want her to wake up. (less)
Euclid's Elements, the monolithic mathematical masterpiece, a ten-book geometric universe, composed of a vast network of hundreds of propositions and proofs, is founded on the humble request to draw a circle.
Quest for The New World
Or: how hard it is to find the source of something far away
We stopped in a populous metropolis,
our wistful hearts fired by Desire for higher adventure,
piqued, youthful, yearning toward some subtle bliss--
a halcyon clarion call more faint than(more) that song
underneath the brazen blood
ringing in your ears
at a moment of pure silence you meet
with a quiet mind.
I do not know what, in that new place, we expected to see
with the same old sunlight,
because even the sunlight seemed fresh
and we had nothing to lose
(Home, family, friends changed
made unreal and rearranged
by the heady draught
of undergraduate life)
every breath in that city was a gift.
The streets so full of urine’s reek,
Foul words encased in double-speak,
Cheap tricks and trinkets, tacky-bleak,
And flesh displayed for bold and weak.
We sought on the very edge of America
the dream that drove
the restless settlers Westward,
discovered, as they did, we could not
find anything we had not brought
so though a beautiful mist gathered
over the Bay
at the break
of a comely day
I fear we found
In that city
(which was impressive,
do not misunderstand me)
only a wilted soiled aspiration
midst mashed Marlboro butts
and dampened with gentle rain.