- Photo provided by the author
—Loop: A Reductio—
A bowl of fruit loops completes
another revolution in the microwave,
making 13.7 minutes and counting
on high, the milk still boiling over
in rainbows burning on the cloudy tray
and the spoon sparking primordial.
Let it turn. There is no gravity.
Eating them cold feels like giving in
preemptively to entropy that unspools
everything eventually- so be volatile
now; chase lightning and catch it
by the spoonful, accreting chaos that
a bowl of fruit loops completes.
—TO THE RIVER—
The wooden sign with black background
and carved letters painted gold hanging
over the stairway to the underpass in downtown
Middletown at the back of the public parking lot
that crosses under the highway reads:
TO THE RIVER
And I imagine it being shouted
by an ancient hero pressed into urgent courage,
running toward the concrete stairwell,
fist raised to the dusk, head turned back
to address the weary mob just long enough
to spark them into obedience, and for me to capture
the moment in my mind and join them
on the banks to lay down my weapons, too.
—Nanaimo—
Brown needles fall like anxious thoughts
on the trail I did not expect to walk today,
becoming path and past below me far
enough to watch them blur away.
New trees sprout from dying stumps,
as signposts leading to my clearing,
where the water in the lake is still enough
for every splash and echo, hearing
in them the Father’s voice from sky
reflecting - I am loved and good enough.
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