Doubt The harrow lay abandoned As I pulled myself upwards Along the slope in flight, Clutching the hard wild grasses glinting So many hours, so much will – I wanted the moon to myself among the ruins, To sit within that broken circle Wondering about charades, propitiations, Agonies, the whole conspiratorial dance I wanted to believe That Dante and Ulysses both Had travelled there and back Even though I knew they made Their journeys in melodic gaps Whether it’s your lazy eyelids Not yet waking, or a father’s breathing out, Or men and women turning heads While cruelties hasten nameless Children to their end, It’s all for us to see from the edges, From the lip My pale skin will grow cold By degrees, pressed against my earth, An ear to the ground For the incantation of worms, The distant heavens spinning Their dispassionate minuets, Also condemned Almost as certainly ________________________________________________________________________ Emanuel E. García, 2014 |