(home)
(gallery)
(authors)
(contents)

To Think

To think that the God
   who makes us die
lifts us up to see
   the starry light
so there are stars in heaven
   and stars in the brain
that becomes dirt --

and everything goes on:
   the busses pull away,
the steps fade, the night
   darkens on the town.
In the suburban lot,
   moist between my fingers,
yes, just this earth.

copyright © 1998 Gordon Fitch