The whole world is a trigger. Pull it.
Our shared vocabulary,
sadly, these days is menace.
That’s the truth neutrino
and supernova and moonbeam
and melancholy and cicada share.
Menace may or may not be
God’s finger. A wild dog
runs through every pigment
of the symmetries that hold
a composition together. You might
travel about 150 kilometers
just to reaffirm the loneliness
at the heart of each unfolding
millisecond. Look out
the window. The landscape rages still
life. All the empty houses across
the nation echo with your secret name.
The groundhog won’t see his shadow
today. The flags will be ordered to
half-mast. The wintering center holds
while the bull snorts in the pasture
and the rain beads on the tombstones.
You will survive this. You will survive.