Daughter and her Grandmother were back
At the house, watching one of the movie
Versions of Alice that fine final afternoon.
Body, mind, and awareness were loitering
At a picnic table in the park. Pumpkin carving
Was scheduled for a couple hours later.
Nothing more exciting or ordinary than this world.
One entered it, became infected in due course,
And then spent the rest of one’s moments
Either wondering how and why one had entered,
Or bowing and scraping to curry favor
With some shapeshifting ghost of a creator,
Or ignoring the compound problem altogether.
Impermanent world, impermanent everything,
Permanent dilemma: what was so ordinary
About a spinning rock giving birth
To living and hunting and fleeing and dying?
The weakening autumn sunlight lowered
Itself down into the high sandstone mesas
Like a dying man easing into an armchair,
Craving a familiar comfort no longer there.
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