A tent upended
Resembles an umbrella
Stop bombing Gaza
Umbrella blows down
“Violence” is the umbrella’s
Shelter from suffering
University
Fills an entire line: police
Sweep students from lawn
As if bowling pin
Not ball made the spare: empti-
Ness of wooden lane
Echoes absolute
Absence of bicycle shields
Cracked heads on sidewalk
Came around a banyan tree, its noodle limbs. Red convertible Cadillac, white man in front passenger seat, drowsing.
At the beach’s other edge, mother monk seal and pup. In the park, a surprise wedding, even to those present. Baby comes in July.
Look to the simple words if not for clarity, then consolation. Birds still sing; tide still comes in. Nothing is still.
I had thought all consolation false, or at least fake. If fiction, then apt. Days grind us to happy dust, our sorrows.
“Too dangerous to swim” read the signs. Dangerous for the seals, perhaps. A local man wishes me a “good vacation.”
No more seal SWAT team, only yellow tape across the beach. The watchers watch trespassing human beings. No seals to be seen right now.
An exchange of vows
includes history. History includes presence, a cake made of diapers
and a tiara, pens and paper to write wishes down, but not for you.
People pet my dog; I take pictures of their hands.
How do you celebrate
presence? The teacher asks us. With balloons! With secret and yet
somehow public weddings! With joy inside of tents!
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