There aren’t enough fleas
on this blanket for one dog,
nor ticks in the trees
for one man let alone two.
The rain comes neatly as planned
and the Sahara sand
has been ruined with humus.
Disease has been assaulted assiduously,
killing off death
until God has been forced to devise
new strategies to remove us,
one by one
on schedule,
like trains first to arrive are first to depart.
I look at you and see nothing but glory
whereas before I could see your faults
bright as lemons
squeezed into water for their acidic effect.
How can we thrive in such a world
where bills are paid like candy is eaten
and more things are free than not
and disaster strikes so faintly
the newsmen don’t notice?
But half the earth still turns away from the sun
while the other half turns toward it,
and a shadow called night
gives us a chance to be in the dark
wrapped in blankets of sleep
where fleas are plentiful
and a small seed of fear can get a start.
2001