THE SLIGHTNESS

For most of your life, 

you think you're hip 

to what you're listening to—

then, one day, 

it isn't 

the music, 

but the silence 

that falls at the end 

of it all 

which inflicts on you

the goosebumps of something 

to confront: 

that absence 

which feels so 

audaciously exposed 

but which has, 

in fact, been adroitly 

composed by 

the full blast 

of all that has 

not come to pass—

by the slightness

of every last 

moment in your life 

when you didn't know 

what you could do 

or say next

playing back at 

full volume,

all at once.

AVAILABILITY BIAS

Ever notice—

the implications 

of certain things persist,

while the purport 

of others is considerably 

diminished?

With each new 

dead-ringer for Earth 

they discover, 

public interest 

in "the scientific" 

grows less 

and less certain; 

or you can't forget 

the favorite actor 

of the juvenile bastard  

who last 

broke your heart,

but you couldn't name 

the eye color 

of the woman who 

named you and 

fed you for years.

But of course, this is 

just the only way 

for significance 

to persist, and yet still 

remain endurable:

if you do not 

support it, it just 

disappears.

LOOSE ENDS

Look around 

the park grounds 

near the end 

of any September—

the pale leaves 

all look similar 

and utterly 

replaceable 

once they've fallen 

from their 

homes in the limbs;

they cannot wonder 

how they got here, 

and there is no answer 

to the question "what for?"

But what about you—

the pale, foolish person

who's still holding on 

to the arms 

that once sustained him—

do you still think 

you'll use your hunger 

before your 

hunger uses you?

Is that separation 

looming, after which 

you won't 

exist? And if so, 

aren't there probably 

one or two 

things around here which 

you still need 

to do? 

UNPROVEN

Somewhere 

on Earth, in a garden 

near a path, 

the freckles 

which spangle the inside- 

petals of a lily 

might correspond 

exactly 

to the positions 

of stars in a 

distant galaxy 

observed  

before dawn

on the half-frozen ocean 

by a desperate crew

of Atlantic explorers 

as a celestial highway 

guiding them home.

Even more 

impressively, though

no one now living 

will ever make 

the discovery,

and this hallowed, 

symmetrical code 

of the universe 

will shrivel 

and die 

when the first 

cold wind blows.

SECRETS

In the soup-

thick fog 

of early morning, 

the "next right thing"

might collide

with opportunity;

a cool, wet crow 

might swoop down

from a lamppost 

to make a poem 

of the worms 

she extracts 

without care

from the sopping 

ground below;

motions might 

well be the cause 

of themselves

and consequence 

might be their 

only purpose. 

In a world 

where reality 

looks so uncouth, 

signification 

might be ripe 

for the taking,

and there's 

nothing wrong 

with stealing it all

when nothing 

outside of ourselves 

belongs.

WITH ALL DUE RESPECT TO KEATS,

sometimes this 

is how it goes: 

although 

you do not need 

to know, 

you look again 

at the clock 

on the wall 

to confirm 

that it wears the same face 

of disfigurement 

and genuine 

torment it wore 

just before; or, 

perhaps because 

you can't resist 

you triple-

check the distance 

between 

derelict here and 

unrealized there 

and find 

that its path appears 

just as perilous, 

uncivilized, 

and austere as both 

places put together.

And that's 

when it hits you 

right between the eyes 

that the truth 

of each moment 

is so savage 

and entire 

that even if it 

throttles you 

to near-exhilaration, 

you could never 

mistake it for beautiful—

not even by the poetry-

in-motion 

of a long shot.

NEW PHASE

A touch blander, perhaps, 

than the Christians' slender 

gilded crosses, 

but I tend to feel best 

that mix of agony 

and grandeur 

when I'm biting my lip 

and passing beneath 

the yellowing branches 

of a primeval tulip poplar

in the barely-there 

newness 

of midwestern autumn—

feeling so small, 

and yet heavy 

for my size, 

and always so 

piecemeal-divided by 

the fractal shadows cast 

across my body

on the underside 

of this tall, 

stoic being that's so 

willing to die—

at least 

for a little while—

in order to outlive 

and outgrow 

us all.