The light doesn’t normally die in the east,
yet there she goes falling off the edge of the earth.
The traffic all goes backwards;
people disappear into their homes at 8 AM.
The northern trees are dying
while southern trees grow. Where
southern trees disappear, there is grass.
And grass gives way to desert.
Have you ever seen smoke
fall down a chimney?
Do you know what it means
when no one can swallow
and the coffee goes from the mouth
into the cup? All there is to love
is a memory of what once was.
The river flows uphill.
Birds swim under the lake surface.
A fisherman’s boat is upside down
in the sky, his line dropped
into the cloud overhead
where a bass lurks near the weed bed.
In this strange world, girls
abuse their fathers,
and we all know there is
a single god of darkness.
The other day, I saw the rain falling
upwards, and the sun’s light beaming
back toward its home. Shadows cast
all the way back to the sun!
The horrible sounds of industry
tear apart the wilderness,
while the busy hives of our cities
are utterly silent. Radio static sounds
like music. And music…? There is none.
And as for love, it is our
one enduring hope. There is evidence:
We cling to each other as we peer
wide-eyed at this strange world.
If there is grace, it may be in this embrace.
But nothing is certain. Even words
make no sense. A true heart could be
a true source, but don’t trust too much.
God has played jokes before.
-Anthony Signorelli
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