poems as hand- and foot-holds on a glass mountain

An Amoeba’s Lunch


Day came on before words

Words came on as wind over a slate roof

a force of a thousand breaths

crawling over old tiles

finding even tiny cracks and seams

Day was unmoved


Best seen oncoming, as if her arrival were gradual

(the words say) and she would hide and preen,

shout and whisper, praise and mock the moment

we are always just outside of as its shadow

How are we not of the day? If we would speak for it,

who would be speaking?  A witness 

the day envelops and absorbs

     as an amoeba’s lunch

A garbled message from a submarine

gone too deep    The hull seams creak, settle, 

crack; rivets pop


Day is a field of grass

with trees and mountains beyond

Day is this beyond come for us

instead of what it seems 

a march we find ourselves in

with a crowd of ourselves

for something we vaguely favor 

as the scent of almonds and olives;

a Truth as a moment carrying itself

light as air, as nothing, as freedom

a radiance faster than light

faster than being, than ignorance and knowing

already here before ‘here’ was


Its light would blind us 

so it has come as radiance felt, intuited

a chill or tremor from the heart of things, 

of the fields and particles in spacetime

Einstein’s cosmic mollusk

2 Responses to “An Amoeba’s Lunch”

  1. Craig Brandis

    day came on before words…crawling over old tiles…hull seams creak and settle…the scent of almonds and olives..and Truth carrying itself…the field of particles.

    This has breathing room in it and places to sit and stare. I like it.


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