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Poem

It Has Always Been Like This

It has always been like this, since the very first slap.
We will go north this morning, then go south in the evening,
Then we will step this way, and then that way, silently…
We will breathe this same air, and will talk as the others do,
We will make love in the gloaming before dinner,
Then across this carnivorous street we will trod,
To where we need to go, silently, with hungry words.

It has always been like this, since life’s swaddling hour.
We will decide that insipid time must be spent inside a box—
Where the dream-keepers keep the usual blood stories flowing—
They will guide us to turn left, then right, after the traffic signal.
They will sing a medley of madrigals to the ascending swallow-tails.

It has always been like this, since anyone can hardly remember.
We will go west one minute, then east the next, silently…
We will learn that the night comes early in the waning autumn,
When a serpentine parade of automobiles will come right at you,
With their insistent headlights beaming like firebirds in the night,
Splashing down on us with an new rain in an ancient garden.

It has always been like this, since the first human heartbeat.
We will continue to travel these carnivorous byways—
These moribund roads that turn this way and that way—
Roads that glisten in the moonlight beyond the next low hill.
We will navigate these watery tundras of passing existence—
As curious sailers would; brave with gaping eyes,
Forever vigilant and leery, of the coming unknown crags.

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