November 4, 2012 § Leave a comment
if there were, here, three worlds
on one globe
I’d know about it. the poem you hold
with your eyes, you would hold
with hands arms legs, splinters of one
in the conditional, there are no rapids frothing with certainty.
only the family of the first world feel that finality
of coming first.
we must shelter under them when the storms come.
after the storm, the sun
blazing on a white bicycle through the tropics
and onto the ice;
when it comes we will see everything
three worlds can have no colour
in the great, hot dawn