AFTERMATH AT ARLES
remembering Gustaf Sobin
In the arena
alone with the sun
we tried to talk
ourselves into now.
But then was too strong.
Stone upon stone serried
back up to the sky
where no one sits
ever watching
what does not happen.
That is the sorrow, isn’t it,
when God is dead
there is no witness.
This structure is for mourning,
to focus time’s ellipses
around us, bend us
to mingle with the unrelenting
day. Nothing to say
about pigeons sailing in and out.
We talked about what is left
when language is gone,
Robert Kelly
Posted over on Charlotte Mandell
from MAY DAY: Poems 2003-2005
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