Tuesday, March 7, 2023

 (Published in the April, 2023, edition of Plainsongs)

A Drowned Man’s Search for Meaning

 

Some days
the harbormaster, the bookkeeper
the editor-in-chief, the umpire
agree to meet
(as assigned)
in a quiet café
in Barcelona
or on a hill
on the coast
just east of San Sebastian.
 
Those dissolving cafés.
 
Such cafés with
tables under trees,
a bowl of oranges
and warm bread in the shade.
 
They are given mint
tea, with lots of sugar.
They stay quiet.
Smiling like Mona Lisa
at each other, relieved
to take time off.
 
They are not distracted
but still they don’t comment
on the sandpiper
on the beach below
who’s let go
of the ideas
causing its pains.
Without them
the sandpiper finds
amethyst in
the universal grains,
with or
without worry.
 
Some days the octopus
needs no ink.
 

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