Sunday, January 25, 2009

184. SO LITTLE AMISS

SO LITTLE AMISS
When the raven dropped out of the sky, tendentiously avoiding
its perfectly executed landing, it was - at that same moment -
that the daylight changed to a harshness of blinding snow.
Windows fogged over and noises were muffled.
In personal anguish of my own, along some tiny
Pennsylvania road, I watched a deer, struck by a car
and twisting about with two broken legs, slowly raise
its head and die. There was nothing anyone could do -
even that blowhard guy with the big red truck, lights and
tool box and all the rest, stopping in a fit to attend to
what had happened, didn't really have a clue.
-
Above us, in the sky, some broken half-moon wavered,
between that snowy sky and the wide open daylight blue;
passing itself alike between its own darkness or pale lumen.
It too knew not what to do. The entire world's parchment, it
seemed, had been newly scratched by what had just happened.

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