One morning while slowly winding the springs
in my machine, sunrise made me think
of God and how Deux ex Vita
would be much preferred by me to
life’s plot resolutions that can be explained
away as coincidences, synchronicities or, God forbid,
miracles, because the world’s not a stage,
we are not players, no gods seem
to be interested in our many lives,
good or bad, slight or critical. Nothing.
These warm, rainy nights of young spring,
salamanders begin crossing the road to water
and woods not so far away but
a dangerous journey, and I with flashlight
play Virgil taking them to a Paradiso.
For years, I have volunteered for the endangered species program in New Jersey, so I have seen the amphibians – endangered, threatened, or just in danger – crossing locally to vernal pools of water. Dangerous road crossings. See some salamander rain video and more info at endangerednj.blogspot.com
Seeing myself as Dante’s Virgil guide and my local woods as a paradiso may be a bit of poetic license but…
Snow has melted and left my home,
but here farther north it still fell
last night on this cemetery I visited
though I know no one buried here,
at least I don’t think I know
anyone here beneath the cold, fresh white.
A blanket is the cliche. Wrap. Shroud.
Some flat gravestones are covered, now anonymous.
Some old ones still standing are illegible.
Also anonymous. I feel I should pray
for these people but if they had
souls wouldn’t they have gone elsewhere?
I think I’m praying for my family
and friends gone and buried elsewhere and
for myself imagining others walking above me
dead or me dead above those walking
below through a cemetery once live green,
covered with snow and I am hoping –
not praying – that they will be praying
for me, for my soul, here, elsewhere.
I awaken to sunset’s orange glow approaching,
or perhaps it is sunrise battling clouds.
Is that window the East or West?
Without my eyeglasses, the desk lamp glows
like the Sun, but it feels night.
The clock hands say seven without AM/PM
and my brain cannot sense time or
whether I am right side up or
adrift at sea, waves lift and fall,
my head hot and my feet cold.
I scribbled some notes when I woke up and felt like my fever had lifted. The notes didn’t make much sense but I did recall the confusion about time and the feeling that I was at sea.
A few days later, I was flipping through a poetry anthology and came upon “The Walrus and the Carpenter” by Lewis Carroll and these lines seemed just right.
The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might:
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright —
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
Writing the Day 