Two men from far apart
sit near each other in the
hotel breakfast room,
leaning forward to snatch
the food from their spoons
so that they are not under the drip.
Both bend in homage to
gravity’s superior food handling skills.

They move together precisely,
as if programmed,
a tableau in which the absurdity of life
asserts itself, absurdly, as if it were
as real as gravity.

* * *

A root floats in the flat sea
banging against the land’s clean stone interface.
Its presence says nothing of where it came from,
a struggle we lose on the margins
but win everywhere we live.

* * *

At nine in the morning
it’s close to dawn.
The tilted earth still holds us tight.

December 2, 2005

[Remember: In the blogosphere, we are required to forgive one another’s bad poetry. It’s the law.] [Tags: poetry]

Categories: Uncategorized dw