I’m no Dante, lost though I may be,
Nor you my Beatrice, just as lost to me.
Yet the passions ring, silent to your ear—
O brooding lyric, lead on! Lo these many years:
Think of a single autumnal leaf,
Ablaze like a sun consuming itself;
The closer to death the brighter
It glows, crackling like a fireplace
Straining against a winter yet to arrive
If poets are the legislators of the world,
What am I doing in a private school where rich kids
Discover the world belongs to them?
To resist through nonviolence, yes—
I’ll do what the data says is wise.
But to love is another matter:
I may wave the flag, but I am no patriot;
Is it not better to burn what they betray?
I inherited a small fortune when I came of age,
Invested it well.
Now, at 35, I have even more money.
Time and commerce are good to the fortunate.
I’ve been hearing Save the Rainforest
Since I was small enough to sleep
In the safety of my parent’s bed
Or snuggled with stuffed animals—
Pandas, giraffes, monkeys, frogs;
Atheism is not some sad doctrine
Insomniacs suffer, tossing in bed,
Mourning the death of those yet to die,
Composing frantic verses in the dark
This is where we come together,
Not before but after:
The blood already drained,
We refill it;
We never lack for blood to give.
Last week 1,000 Jews and allies
Surrounded ICE Headquarters in protest
Chanting Never Again
Like a shofar sounding pain
From Auschwitz to Gulag to Mount Sinjar
It’s a lovely March New England day,
40 with a high of 48.
My joints have grown stiff with winter,
But surely spring has time to spare!
Perhaps in April I’ll ride my bike.