Yesterday, the body was reading in a pool of sunlight
In a glowing book, while listening attentively to the small
Birds peeping outside the mud-spotted window. This book I was
Reading was not the local library's copy of Billy Collins
Someone else brought home, each little lost insight
Wagging like the short tail of a perfectly obedient spaniel.
(He said it, bless his heart. I didn't!) This book was the same
Treatise of rebel cosmology, caught up in time, I've quoted
So waggishly myself before: "The experienced qualities of qualia
Correlate with changes of energy. Colors are a measure
Of energy, as are tones." The daughter interrupted the birds,
Wanting a snack to go with her "but it's educational!" Octonauts
Cartoon. Change, thought body to body, experiencing various qualia,
Quite petulantly, is changes of energy, always, qualia too.
Then body pocketed the glowing book to go get daughter a snack.
When I looked back, it was next morning, a hard frost again
Bricked the ground around the old, warped door, the garden gate.
Daughter had been up half the night with a head cold,
And the looming changes in energy made qualia feel afraid,
Teetering on the edge of the knowable world as the small birds
Burst from frozen bushes into sun, frantically renewing
The search for yesterday's seeds, a couple of juncos bouncing
Off bedroom windows' glaring hard reflections but not falling,
Not dropping to the ground stunned dead, not this time,
Mercy amid the cruelty as always, caroming into bare blue.
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