Aside from water, aside from sailing, killings
and results of counting steps,
in pursuit of danger as well as familiarity
of gestures shielded from view by dayandang trees.
The season’s too cold for leaping
to conclusions on whether constellations are drifting farther
away from us. Doomsday cultists are coming out of the woodwork
these days, crowing about supposed signs
of the Second Coming. Do we now synchronize
our positions, are the children’s hearts
getting healthier, are the horses
trotting faster than before? Suppose I imagine
birds, will that conjure birds?
If I visualize paradise,
will that render visible the wind’s unseen machinery,
will that produce names for all kinds
of wounds to make plain the level of damage wrought
to the environment, to explain the water rise
going beyond the expected limits
assuming we can still consider as limits
the coiled ropes and upright pickets of my unease?