by Christine Adams Beckett
An amber leaf blown to the lips
Providentially brought the taste of
Spent chlorophyll to the back of the throat
With a pertinent reminder that the earth
Has once again turned New England
Away from the sun.
Joy endures. An orbit of pleasure
Accessible to a perceptive physical world
Reminds one to look up,
Away from running feet
To recognize a lower slant of light,
Take a hold! Ride…
Spin along with it and
Equinoxal forces and clocks refuse to stop.
Auden’s dog continues to bark with that juicy bone.
Regardless of personal tragedy,
A populace trudges forward
At an orbital 1,038 miles per hour.
Bishop’s ironic One Art of losing
May actually be easy to master.
One of eight billion stories,
Insignificant and cliche,
One lonely man turns to comradely
Inclusion in the human race.
Physics and its most complex theories
End in an incomprehensible place
Where matter ceases to exist.
On a spinning orbit, a cosmic vacuum
Unencumbered by a physical world:
Pain will be powerless,
Love will thrive.