poem

 Metaphysics

What is the meaning of all this,

Why are we here.

Why am I here.

Let's get down to it.

It’s simpler than anyone thought.

It’s not an inscrutable game,

A cosmic battle for every last soul.

All you have to do is look.

Pay attention to everything that is.

The cobwebs in your closet

This spinning electric ceiling fan

The cool smoothness of clean bowls in the morning

Flowers wilting in Indian summer heat.

How could they exist without you?

Find an empty room, a vast fall field

Of long grasses and Queen Anne's lace.

Seek out the the abandoned places

Where things can only be as you see.  

It’s up to you to bring them all alive.

This is no time for dwelling on your silly life

And all the illusory railings in your mind.

It’s time to stop looking inside

The emptiness of imaginary boxes.

Name and catalog all the rest;

Mammals, bones, moods,

The varieties of rain and snowflakes and socks.

Even tears will wink with gratitude.

Here’s a marching row of dutiful ants

Black squirrels scratching up trees

Whisperings of September breezes.

Who but you is there to translate?

Your life is its own esoteric fluency.

Eventually you’ll find it---

Bold strategy or fate

Or blind stumbling luck.

You'll find it in the

Quiet dark places,

In the unmarked forests without paths.

It doesn't try to hide.

So don't give up

Keep going

Keep conjuring that world

And you’ll narrow it down

To a few things that you 

Can’t stop gazing at;

That girl you must love

The young boy you will guide.

They’ve been watching out for you 

This whole goddam time.

There’s your answer.

That’s why you’re here;

You’ve already been seen.

9/12/11