Everyone knows the great energies running
terrible shadows, that each of the so-called
senseless acts has its thread looping
back through the world into a human
the gold-trimmed thunder
wanders the sky; the river
may be filling the cellars of the sleeping town.
Cyclone, fire, and their merry cousins
Bring us grief. But these are the hours
with the old wooden-god faces;
we lift them to our shoulders like so many
black coffins, we continue walking
into the future. I don’t mean
there are no bodies in the river,
or bones broken by the wind. I mean
everyone who has heard the lethal train-roar
of the tornado swears there was no mention
ever of any person, or reason – I mean
the water rises without any plot upon
history, or even geography. Whatever
power of the earth rampages, we turn to it
dazed but anonymous eyes; whatever
the name of the catastrophe, it is never
the opposite of love.
Wherever you go and whatever you do on this meandering journey you have begun together, remember and re-member who you are and why you choose to be here this time around. Two “memories” from two other poets who visited you this year:
…we shall never cease our exploration
and when all our exploring is done,
we shall end up where we started and know the place for the first time.
Let the Beauty you love be the Beauty you do.