There are no small moments

There are no small moments,
but how do you prove this
to the hero, or the progressive,
or the chief investments officer?
And how do you convince
your own soul—as you lift
the black plastic bag
from the white plastic bin
and take the hallway
to the stairs
then to the alley—
for the inertia of blood
makes the blue heart slow
to speak the splendour it sees
in snow, in wind, in light, in eyes,
and these left unattended
—their seriousness,
lost to all but the very young—
add to the verdict of
shallow moments.
And now,
                   there is no way around it
but to lay open and wait:
who knows, in time, with luck
you may burst into flame.



  1. Perhaps because I have been dealing with several newly diagnosed manic-depressive and/or suicidal students this semester (what is going on anyway?), this poem scares me.

  2. Time and luck, eh? I was interviewed on local TV last week about marriage (told my wife I’m now a marriage expert). My 15 minutes of fame lasted about 10 seconds – but I thought I saw a flicker of a flame…. But then I still had to take the garbage out.

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