Herrings begin to glow just after they die,
never while alive. When I read this
I wanted to sit for a long time in the dark.
Nothing in nature is a metaphor.
Everything is. I thought both thoughts.
And knew inexactly why I felt sad.
Herrings dead and aglow–
I should have been properly amazed,
the way anyone looking at a star
would be, realizing it was years away,
untouchable. Yet there it is, shining.
Thinking about the immortality of the crab
"A work is never completed except by some accident such as weariness, satisfaction, the need to deliver, or death: for, in relation to who or what is making it, it can only be one stage in a series of inner transformations."
- Paul Valéry
Resurrection of the little apple tree outside
my window, leaf-
light of late
in the April
called her eyes, forget
How does one go
Who on earth
is going to teach me–
is filled with people
who have never died