Steady: There’s a Tale to Tell

We contemplate the night again,

the right again to go to sleep –
to flow into a deepness
from and into which

we’ve come and gone again
already. (Steady: there’s a tale
to tell.) The wails and bells
of funerals regale: can now be heard

to bolster the mistaken notion dying
has occurred. We’d like to put
that all to rest. The test: investigate
the guess that we are here and there

no matter what or where
and when a baby drops
a rattle and a gossip tittle-tattles
and a gassed embattled boxer throws

another fast left jab to try to win
this fight, we sigh: they’ve grabbed
a little light and made it theirs.
To think the point’s to travel

up or down the mystic stairs through
to an elevated heaven
or the burning ebon smell of hell –
or that the only facts are breath

or death – repels; seems abject
silliness as well. We’re bits
who blink into and out of view.
That’s the tale we came to tell you.





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