Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Grace, Fallen from


The zoo. So one thinks up from

the amoeba, way ahead to one's great-grandchildren
someday or no day. Then back where old
photographs live, those minutes

locked in the ice
of someone's remembering, some uncle
with a camera. But the zoo 
is very matter-of fact: warm bodies (monkeys,
zebras, any moving thing

with beak, with feathers) versus

the flashing cold and/or hot ones: the bite-the-dirt-for-all-we-do-wrong ones
or the soft-bellied frog or the salamander flattened,shrunk, puffed out, its legs, arms,
sweet little claws completely
not a snake, having lured no one and nothing.

I was saying: consider the metal bars. To keep
such wonders in, to keep us  smaller wonders – out.
Almost noon, some uniformed someone
turns up with bananas, seeds,
fetal pigs, apples, the works. How not

to love this guy?his trusty
indifference, his all-right-another-day-of-it
shrug and off-key whistle. The animals
look up.
Something is about to happen. Food

does that. In this saddest of worlds, think

and an ocean of hope
rides over us. Is it hope? And too cheap? This

metaphor filling the moment? the mind?

the life finally and exactly? I mean
the guy's coming closer, the one

with a bucket. And a shovel.