Nocturne

For I am every dead thing.
John Donne, “A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day”

December night. Meteors streak
through the bare crowns of oaks.

I watch the sky as if it were the sleeping face of a dreamer.
All that blazing action without a sound!

And the longer I look, the more unfamiliar it becomes,
wholly itself & yet possessed. Wild. Vulnerable.

I want to be present the way an oak is present
& stretch empty arms into the void.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave's writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the "share alike" provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

3 Comments


  1. Beautiful, just beautiful, response to an old favourite. Which I’m going to read again now.

    Reply

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