Today's poem is by Ravi Shankar
I lie on my back in the damp grass,
Staring at the stars' mineral precision.
Masses of gas, bearers of dead light,
Mysteries snared by unreachable lairs,
How many pairs of eyes have swilled
From your glass and grown thirstier?
Will our progeny decode your songs?
My heart gives its usual answer: thrum.
The longer I gape, the more the many
Nebulae appear latticed, like a screen
In windows or page of graph paper,
Ordered as the placement of fibulas
In feet. The chart seems plotted
Along three axes: love, labor, time.
Besotted hours converge into minus,
Kind and curative movements belong
To plus, and mirrored, both data-sets
Verge towards an indentical asymptote,
Death, Provider of cardinal boundary,
Maker of the silence shapes merge with
Eventually. This much is certain:
Today I'm a day closer to extinction.
Hearse-curtains have been drawn
In every city while the stars remain
Anchored overhead. Really they move
Towards annulment in a proof I cannot
Prove. Soon enough, pattern dissolves.
Let me replace them with these words.
Copyright © 2004 Ravi Shankar All rights reserved
Cherry Grove Collections
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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Copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved