Poetry |

“The Auspices”

The Auspices

 

See the tops of trees waving gently midway up the view?

the view outside this window changes, hour by hour

hour after hour, we take for granted the bizarre mechanism that is a body —

a body performing its cryptic tasks without interruption

 

Without interruption or any more instruction than was issued on Day One

Day One: the heart is told to pump in fine weather or foul, sync with the lungs

(the lungs — when you went to the exhibit of the blacksmith’s toil, they said …

they said the bellows work like your lungs, but that seemed silly then)

 

Silly then; silly now: the lungs, the heart, and unsung organs even more

even more easily taken for granted (think about your spleen? You don’t)

you don’t think of your benisons at all unless you’re pushed to do so

to do so, all you need is five blessed senses, or six, if you’re lucky

 

You’re lucky: every time you cease your agitation, it’s obvious —

it’s obvious. But when you watch the magpies dance, that isn’t what you see

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