Encomium

The day begins at twenty-three hours

When the particulate matter is down to

Single digits

And the fever of human flesh and smog

Has vanished for a time

When the day stands still and

Contemplates

What has been given and taken

A simple question

That underlies so much emotion

While the world turns on its

Fluorescent bulbs

Blinding screens

Hastily shifting pages

Tailgating the cavalcade of

Dreams

Coded inquiries that serve

No function

Let us stop turning

And feel the Earth’s

So subtle in its push

Just a light touch to the east

And a hasty pull

That is sometimes the answering

Force when

You are about

We are in soup

But little vegetables

Quivering in the Brownian motion

Under the cavernous eyes of God