If There Is a Simple Way to Avert
an age of iron, an age of cut.
If you’re feeling kaleidoscopic, come in.
If you see a vanishing point, look further, then
be sure to try to escape somehow, prolix.
And maybe an age of iron’s an old decade
that doesn’t know how to throw its arms open.
There is a way to avert this.
You think there must be a way. Insist
on a little qua quartz,
so small and yet so happy there,
content to simply say what it means.
You insist on a gaze that you can find.
You insist on arms that open to embrace you.
You insist on a sonata’s middle,
a part with heart.
If there is a simple way toward,
what’s been left out of external,
then an age of cut is no more—
there’s no need to worry about what a heart
might need to select all for herself,
for you don’t have to quickly close the door.
This is simply a way to avert
and this is simply a way to find peace
and if you can see a vanishing point
then do not focus on that point, but
find a way to wonder somewhere.