Brushes With The Dark Law

 Published in Flora Fiction Literary Magazine Volume 3, Issue I, Spring 2022

A New Year Flood

There is a hole in this wall of feldspar and quartz.
There is a hole in the rain.
 
Gopherwood hardly holds us all
in the dawn of this new era of sun-leaking days.
 
Yet like seeks like only on whims of last resort.
Order twists reason in the newly wild winds.
 
In the seed vault rain-green tendrils pledge to climb
a stem from the root of time.
 
In the library of catastrophic gaffs
hangs an icon of the image of melancholy, just for laughs.
 
After cubits of chaos comes a paltry branch
in an arc of light.  A promise of gravity to salvage time.
 
We, perhaps, did not destroy the plenty of our garden home.
Our birdbrain negligence is given another chance.
 
The myths of progress and the chronographic bones
are tossed into the air with simian glee and freedom chimes.
Clean and unclean eyes without beasts, our divining stones,
 
are throwbacks, vestigial purification, three knocks on a raintree.
Let’s, you and I, construct a celebration.  We’re free.
Let’s clear-cut some old-growth shame,
 
let’s dynamite through a received, impassable mountain
of cinematic range.  Let’s have forty days of not thinking about it.
It is time for my sons to see me drunk and naked.
 
For birds to return from the archipelago of scorched earth. 
It’s time at last for life without covenants or grievance.
Let’s recover from our addiction to grievance.