We Sink in Different Directions
March 19, 2011 § 1 Comment
All ends are loose,
like a fading, or a plane receding
on the runway,
never ceasing to exist
but beginning not to matter,
as it moves
further and further away.
Even closure is a shaky construct,
like carbon monoxide that seeps
through the cracks beneath the doors
of a kitchen,
covered in flowers in broad daylight.
This will not end
the way I want it to—
clean, quick, painless,
a blank slate in a matter of seconds,
an open heart just waiting
to be picked up again.
Slowness is in the character of everything
within the heavy turning of this world,
and what we share
is more like the gradation of night to day
than the systematic ticking
of the second hand of a clock.
Death is not always so grand,
and so all I have tonight
are the sweetest words
from a tongue I cannot trust,
and a sinking feeling
that somewhere, the world’s last polar bear
has silently taken its final breath.