The shrub grew in the sun without
The slightest notion why it was what it was,
Why the sun was the sun. A notion ambled
Along the bank of the dark green pond
Where the shrub shoved down its roots.
When the notion stretched under the shrub
To rest, grey birds scattered from the twigs
And some other creature cried out
From the water's other edge, but the notion
Said nothing and the shrub simply waited
For something else to happen, as all shrubs
Wait, all their lives, anyway. The notion died
A cold and quiet death that night, motionless
As the stones it died on, which is to say,
The formerly thoughtless shrub realized
Come dawn, that now it moved as others
Moved it, the faint vibrations of the world,
The various atoms tearing themselves apart
Within it, the endless entropic decay. Okay,
Thought the shrub, now what I do? I can't
Stand here in the sun any longer without
Any idea what it might mean that anything
Is here to stand here. I'll have to end to put
An end to all of this. No wonder that notion
Lay down after wandering around. How else
Could one escape the thought that comes
With having a thought that comes with one?
No comments:
Post a Comment