Monday, November 25, 2013

The beautiful horrors in this world

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Page 329

Bee shadows against morning tiles
hover and streak like flung pepper,
tiny holes in the sun for the monarch
who passes just above the flowertops.

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Roadrunner leaves the road to the road,
forages for whatever will fit the shape of
its hunger while wrens and flickers dart the
rosemary forest scavenging seed and safety.

This is late November and the days rush now
toward winter, toward the hearth of the beautiful
horrors in this world, eat or be eaten, live or be
outlived, sit and be thus seated with it all.

Joseph Gallo
November 25, 2013

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