We wonder as we try to oversee
the vast horrific traffic jam that we
have generally made of what we’ve done,
how much was duty, how much was fun?
Could duty and fun be the same?
Perhaps that’s the clue to the game.
It isn’t exactly that everything’s One.
Everything’s everything: duty and fun,
and as variously and confusingly bundled
as let’s-call-It-God is each time It has trundled
Its Godself into yet a newly inscrutable Universe,
wondering: meaningless joke, or luminous curse?
Should the moon be averse to the Earth?
Should dying be bundled with birth?
Look at this crystalline rock sparking lights
indiscriminately through the days and the nights
like the flights of the limbs of a dancer.
I found a fellow who says that’s the answer.
He even gave me the rock.
I’ve not got over the shock.