Canto I
Let’s say you woke up one morning
to a world completely to your liking.
You liked the news,
yesterday’s,
the week before,
the year,
centuries,
and quite likely you will like tomorrow,
aka the future,
and the future’s future after that.
To your horror
you realize
you lack the moral
strength to imagine
darkness within light.
You are a wreck of
vapid disapproval.
Canto II
During the weather report,
a wagging finger, a scolding mouth
accused me.
You did this!
You did!
You!
Reciting dire statistics:
water-logged lumber – up 37%
dry rot boards – up 116%
charred sapwood – up 214%
empty resevoirs – up 87%
smoke filled skies – up 101%
I protest!
I am innocent of these statistical disasters.
Hot weather without AC.
Not me.
Canto III
Friends over centuries.
And why not?
I am not bigoted,
not against the dead,
not against quickless bodies,
not against minds soaked in old alphabets.
The long gone teachers still teach;
Ovid, things are and are not what they seem,
Homer, the perils of a long journey home,
Democritus, look small, smallest, dense
Heraclitus, the river dances; cha cha, tango, twist.
Siddhartha nothing lasts, don’t pretend it does.
I place my trust,
I must,
in translation,