A man, blind from birth

A parable

A man, blind from birth,
Is given the gift of sight.
The bandages come off.
He hears the voice of his beloved wife,
And sees…

An incomprehensible blather of light,
A tide of something he has never experienced,
Like water poured on the back
Of a desert beetle,
Or love in the heart
Of a man who has known only
Survival.

A week later,
He is blind again,
Rejecting the meaningless confusion
He has lived without his whole life.

His wife, devastated,
Leaves him,
Thinking she has seen him as he really is,
Ungrateful, mean.

He thinks he knows her at last
For the first time,
A creature wholly devoid of empathy.

Meanwhile, the sun rises over the desert,
And light falls on a beetle,
Scuttling under gathering clouds.

Goodbye, Charlie

Rage. Bullets fly, blood,
Precious blood, flows unstinted.
Twelve people lie dead,
Bereft of all but meaning,

And the bells of Notre Dame peal fiercely,
Clouds part and the gates of heaven
Swing ponderously open.
“Sweet Jesus,” says St. Peter, eyes rolling, “here they come!”

This poem was inspired by a cartoon by Tommy Dessine.

 

Paris, 15:42

Stuck.
A small desire
(coffee, maybe pastry)
A Herculean labor.
Such histrionics,
A drama worthy of greatness,
And I, jet-lagged, ordinary at best,
Blindly stabbing.

Yet, it arrives:
Mousse au chocolat
Crème brûlée
Je n’sais quoi

And coffee,
A small, unassuming demi-tasse,
Ordnance as yet
Unexploded.

I spoke in riddles

I spoke in riddles
Indecipherable even to myself
Especially myself

All these words made real
Made manifest

In the beginning
–It said —
Was the word

Indefinable useless
A meaningless jumble of
Sound unless

That hunger not yours but mine
Is the meaning of all of it
Or the infinite cosmos
Of conscious beings

Until the face in the mirror
Sweeps past me into the distance
Unable at last
To recognize the original

I always thought I was some kind of Gypsy
Racing from edge to edge
Never stopping never asking
Weariness my goad and my goal

All will good or bad
Known and unknown
As deep and suspicious
As an autumn breeze in April

Where is it exactly you want to go?
Don’t you know all places are the same?
All contain your ghosts
The dead can’t help you
Any more than the living
You are yours alone

I lived riddles
Myself indecipherable
Especially myself

Physics

Light streams in, cold as stars
At midnight
You feel the deepest humming
Of the universe
The unguessed throb of its
Unraveling

A star collapses
A photon flies into a black hole
A moon pulls itself apart
Planets spin and collide

And our lives stream outward
To unknown ends