I had nothing against prayers. I had spent
Half my life inventing them. It was impossible
The day before to say for sure how March
Would begin. The road past the library,
Cemetery, community center, tennis courts,
Recycling station, holding pond, entrance
To the outdoor auditorium under the cliffs
Is called Lion for a local reason. Cougars
Have been known to pounce on pet dogs
As well as deer, and joggers have felt
The hairs on their necks stir at twilight
When the evening stars open golden eyes.
Doesn't mean anything to do with weather.
My neighbor liked to own and paint lambs
As well as chickens and pigs, rustic things
That had to be protected long enough
For us to decide what to make of them.
How many millions and millions of humans
Have been raised to think of themselves
As lambs, to pray for protection ambling
Through the long, long valley of the shadow
Where it's the absence of the eerie scream
Announcing the presence of the predator
That is passing the time, waiting, we should
Fear? Every ending has a name. No name
Ever names the ending. Impossible to say.
No comments:
Post a Comment