Contemplations after disaster on a bridgetop looking out over drowned town

River over bridge,
light side near dawn.
The moon has not come down yet.
I think it should have by now.
There is a stale twilight in my mouth.
The flood slows even as I think
it will continue.
Gravity of satellite body holding the tide;
I too am held;
I do not come down.
I wish the mosquitoes would lay off.
I am almost dry.
The moon collapses finally into the dawn.
The water lays still and draining.
Fish flop and flap on the roof of my car,
stupidly, desperately attempting instantaneous evolution.
But the revolution has passed us all by.
There is a phase spinning out.
The mud dries in red cakes of Earth blood,
primal,
final.
The sun clambers up its ladder,
again.
I come down,
flopping and flapping,
awkward at the end of things.
We will build it all,
again.
We have learned nothing.

9/27/97, 9/30/97

Jim Genzano




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