calamitous

"The Reading Girl" sculpture by Pietro Magni

once upon a dark and tidal flow,

streams of shadows rode 

like rebel dolphins' grins

high above murky water, 

beneath a solemn sky

as man arose from the morass,

this chaos he created with his appearance,

who was first to speak, to discover language

with its limits, with its intimations,

with its misunderstood compass — 

what did he say?

did anyone answer? 

were there better words then than now?

should laughter flee this landscape,

we would pack no bags and leave,

no longer tied to this terrible terrain,

this epoch lacking in epiphanies

the world tilts at noxious explorations

of secrets meant to be kept,

hidden from prying eyes

if I suddenly took your hand, 

beckoned with the slightest gesture,

would you promise not to pull away,

but follow, without question?

we are the last of those who came before us,

perhaps the first to realize our impermanence 

oh, those moments when tears would not fall

no matter how heavy the night became as it crept slowly 

through trembling fingers