The Comfort of Gravity

This pedestrian psalm:
a gray meditation on

the ordinary, an escape from
the pedantic, officious cage

and collar, and debt, oh debt—
short leash pulling me home.

Psalm nests in a prayer
saying, no more waking up.

But like a hair anchored
to a long, deep root, a

tenacious cling rouses
me to low clouds again.

What is happiness, exactly?
It might be a promise that

all emptiness would be filled,
every cavity returned its contents,

hunger sated, the answer spoken,
the answer, understood.

All roads are conduits of time.
We never move from place to place,

but through a membrane of now
and now and now.

Space was never there;
matter never mattered.

Eternity is too frightening
a prospect, so a linear myth

convinces us of the safety
of falling, presumes the certainty

of solid ground and its
gift of collision, crash, and

thud, before we come to rest
in the end of weightlessness—

the end of everything.
This is what happiness is.

Published at Linus Gallery (online), July 2015


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