Unimportant Things
I have spoken much -
my trivial record of the hours.
God has not troubled me much,
while ants and termites continue to terrorize nations.
The ugly I have found to be beautiful,
and the beautiful ugly. The root, the gnarling trunk,
and the dying leaf know me.
On the highway, crows pick over a possum.
The meat is gone, bones cracked open.
An eighteen-wheeler roars toward them.
They lift into the sky and hover unperturbed.
The rig's smoking stack passes just below.
Again they descend to the flat carcass
and resume their conversation
with the possum.
I recall as a boy, I stood
by a window looking at a sparrow just like this one.
Every feather could be the same, even the mien and stance
of the bird – the same.
I had never thought of myself as a tree, yet all my life
I’ve been branching away from first roots.
and now thank God, I am become - homely.
My air-conditioner is a hive of humming minds.
Under my dreaming head a pillow stuffed with whisper.
Ghosts do not trouble me,
what does not seem to change bothers me.
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