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What are you waiting for?
LIGHTHOUSE
Because imagination sticks
get caught
settles in as we grow older
finally there is only
one long, silent hour
even if it lasts a day.
Have we been living
all our years for this?
It may be so.
It well may be
the size of life
is measured by the hours,
years and days it takes
for each of us to turn
within the circle
of the slowest dance.
Where then and why
how does the eagle
or the falcon fly ?
And if the rabbit runs
does he run forward
or run back?
The eagle
and the falcon too
are foragers,
but self-propelled.
Lucky rabbit
always running to its lair
and always, always
finding something there.
I think perhaps
that we are running, yes.
Always away and not toward.
I think that we are looking
not quiet for the end
but for a slow dance done
upon the killing ground.
The damage we inflict
in love or hate
or any other name it’s given
is usually beyond repair.
What then can we give
or promise one the other?
Ourselves ? We try,
but always we hold back.
More promises ?
So few are kept
that credibility
must now be stitched
or sewn together.
Finally, the answer
comes up once again,
we can offer one another
nothing but the rattle
of destructive words
a slow death
on the killing ground.
So much for love
and mornings.
- from "Coming Close To The Earth," 1978
