Searchlights Wrack the Valley of Jordan



There are times
when our fates
are in flux,
myriad patterns merging;
and moments
when they lock.
Doors closing.

I remember the day
the last phase
jammed together:
three years under the bridge.
We drove into the winter city
to tie in with the Joneses.
Tires singing
through the slush
carzooming down the four-o-one.
At the restaurant
my wife and Mr. Jones babbled.
but I didn't speak,
barely glanced at Mrs. Jones...

We drove into the winter city
carzooming down the four-o-one:
a rabbit crossing the highway,
halfway across, caught
in our headlights,
stopped and turned back
into our path.


History's splintered,
as million pieces,
a legion of barbarians
stalking us with yellow eyes;
all our mistakes,
lack of faith,
the easy ways in and out,
little murders.
Catastrophe
is stalking us.


Did you see the headlines?
the freedom fighters
have cut off the minister's head,
and troops line all the public buildings.

And now my wife is leaving
leading my children away
with her black widowed gaiety
rattinkling like shivering glass.

I know it's late.
It's very late.
But should you find
the heart, the words,
to change the world:

   cry loud banners,
    cry headlines.

the rabbit's caught in the headlights
   and the future's deciding on us.



  
 
    
 
      
poems