Just a few minutes to write a poem.
\nTo let the blank page stare at me,
\nand I am empty,
\nempty as space,
\nas the vacuum with its rhythms of energy.
\nPhotons from the stars,
\nmemories from other places,
\ndreams lost and gone.
\nCan I catch up to them?
\nLet them reflect in my bodiless shape,
\nmy shape as indistinguishable as a wind,
\na falling thought?
\nIs that where it all goes,
\nto wander the infinite?
\nAmong the furnaces of congealed atoms,
\nthe stars,
\nand the black stars,
\nand the dust from the shovel of creation.<\/p>\n
If I write a poem in the few seconds allotted,
\nwhere will it go?
\nOn what wings will my heart
\nfall like a feather
\nin the flock of its doves?
\nThe more we know
\nthe less certain it becomes.
\nThis pistol of paradise,
\nof entropy,
\nof matter forming its wires and becoming man,
\nor tree,
\nor replicating breath,
\ntill it forms its museum of startling joy.
\nIn the few seconds that I have been
\nsitting lonely in this place,
\nI have gone great distances,
\nbut to where?
\nTo where?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Just a few minutes to write a poem. To let the blank page stare at me, and I am empty, empty as space, as the…<\/p>\n