Eternal Return II

Because in this kingdom of unlikely wonders

we never saw it with our eyes—not the

smaller signs, or the larger erasures.

All came scattershot, like the wind

rushing headlong through torn screens

carrying the laughter of strangers.

Until extinction stops being forever,

I’ll pitch everything I have against death:

muscle memory, tenacity, my whorls & spires,

my lips. When we do the hard work of

extricating ourselves from these systems.

When they suture us back together

to create something more vaguely eternal,

more hope than terror, like Miami’s Golden

Mammoth in a glass vitrine (coffin?)

at the Faena: 24-karat mythological beast

interred at the head of the dwindling beach,

the menacing sea. Tell me we’ll be all right.

When the sun comes up there’s our desire

(the world / its terroir / the taste of your skin)

illuminated like the calf  Moses burned,

then ground to smithereens. He scattered

those ashes on the water, forced the people

to drink. Remember: after each day comes night.

There will be a time when the earth stops

answering; pray for an aperture.