Undertow

Undertow

I’m so glad
I understand everything!
Even my hands, cold
as I sit in the yard, feel warmer.
And the locust leaves, brilliant
yellow, seem to smile.
Sunniness can make even the warped
fenceboards colorful—
the way boughs are swaying
in the breeze—and in the nearby
trees, birds
twitter!
But that anthrax
news is hard to swallow,
those bearded men
with dark eyes filled with hate.

When we rub together
during waking moments in our sleep,
our smooth bodies can’t imagine
parting,
just as the mind can’t
imagine never
contemplating again—

and then, we fall back
separately to sleep.
The mind
leaves its temple.
Darkness bubbles up.

Copyright © 2004 Joseph Somoza