19 Days into the New Year
Time grows, after New Years, like a cauliflower–
half handsome, half deformed, blooming
at its own isotropic rate. On the 3rd we skate
towards war; a plane of travelers crashes
in Iran; Down Under, animals, mostly sheep, burn.
Did the bubbly not last long? At midnight
we’d stomped and danced, undid ourselves
like Mandelstam shaking caraway seeds from a sack.
Who needs hope anyway? The tough-minded
put their faith in deeds –either you do or you don’t.
Drink from that vase. Heave up the smothering haystack.
Hammer the everyday into words. Honor the iguana.
It’s not aspirational to love your neighbor.
Put your cheek close, pull the bow, feel it quiver.