Below the Down

This muddy world of wrists and mirrors
Shows the child, by example, how to grow
In eclipses and spasms, in winds and tides,
In growth that’s no growth but a stretch in retraction
Into forgetting, where death rests solemnly on cushions
Comfortably lounging till Spring.

The forces inexorable swing the sword to and fro,
While we hide our heads in potato chip bags,
And speak to and from politics in forums so vast
Nothing is heard but the earthquakes of doom -

To think of it as inevitable
Is to acknowledge one truth.
That the waking thoughts of birth
Are the most pure you will have is another;
Nothing is new after.
Once life is grasped it is lost
Like a coin in the sea
Potential diminishing
Into worthless rust

Have at all tempests, make mortals fly
Reel in the large tuna,
And reverse all time
Some things remain unconquerable
And that is just that
For all time and so on
No more, no less,
All things are thus final.

And maybe but for beauty we would all be done with it
On the first day of life, be done with it right away.
This sphere of rainbows steeped in avalanche cosmos
Allowing us breath and gravity to maintain continuity
Imbues us with such attachments we never want to leave,
And never would leave, for it is the best place for us,
And there is nowhere else except the dark shroud.

We are never to leave until death,
And never to abandon until the babies start suicide -
Then we’ve had it and there’s nothing else to be had
So live on till then or till death departs you
And have at the mirky waters of the sky.