Purposes as Incomprehensible and Wonderful as These Purposes
Imperfect world, purposeless person.
I retired to pursue perfection
learn jazz tunes, woody and herbaceous plants,
read every inch of English literature,
Scientific American and Foreign Affairs,
have an affair with an American.
Oh, and by the way, before you ask, I'm from Mars.
Orbiting your planet, admiring the girls.
Selecting poems by George Herbert to share
with Jesus believers on poetry sites
where we try to bring our lives into expressible states
before it's too late and climate change inundates us.
If you're just making lists it doesn't matter if your cysts
are malignant or benign. One day you're feeling fine
and the next not. We're pretty matter of fact about
the fact of death. Once you're gone most of us forget
your face and previous accomplishments. The place
you lived is repopulated with the next generation (of
and that ought to be a comfort, a sort of restful
certainty all is well, nothing special need be done.
Bluebirds are back, crows are mating on the sky
and chasing hawks away from their nests. Juncos
and sparrows glean together. I hear pileated
jackhammering and barred owls hooting soothingly.
Herons smoothing feathers and spearing fish.
Everything is as one would wish.
Numberless are the world's wonders
but none more wonderful than aliens.