A Clearing

by Observer

Posted to Poetry on 2003-05-10 23:07:00

Oftentimes when you’re on my hip
and we’re in a clearing somewhere,
holding hands, stroking hair, massaging
body parts,

I lay back and see the fifteen or so
lonely little stars that Chicago has not managed
to extinguish.

I don’t know if they’re stars anymore,
but I see their fossilized light anyway.

If we were to have sex, have children, I tell you,
those poor animals wouldn’t know one of these
setting suns. They wouldn’t know that heaven does exist,
that it isn’t found on paper.

But you, the pragmatist, you would tell me
that if I was fearing some karmic consequence
we could just move, move on into our grandparents’
romanticized youth.

No, no. I cannot run, I would say.
I’m probably just being sentimental.
Besides, if our children cannot indulge in starchasing
they’ll pursue the clouds or the treetops or something palpable,
and with the gentle indifference of an empty night,
actually…… they might find happiness.