zafusy

Hey what made so hectic the light
pulse on the pond after the thrown stone
when we stood in the bodies of children
counting on the banks holding, there
still being a glass that both
contains frogspawn and us, we were after
a container to hold only as much
as could be thought, no more

when called on by our
living parents to make pronouncements
about our far future, what could we say
but the kind of blankness we would
later discover daily at work, and rub ourselves

out, the pond erases itself
or is it that just like an eye
it needs to close
from too much world, from the falling
of nights, the way objects
keep looking and carry
a few ideas at a time, until emptiness
comes as clear as next day.

Giles Goodland

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