Marginalia

`A Poem

AI SUCKS

*

Do not press too hard against the night

or sing with all your voice too loud.

If, we’re told, the god of all our idle joys were to wake,

these mountains in the dark would vanish,

taking with them everything.

*

Tell me how we’ll still look shocked

when the fires we set years ago

leave us only their ashes

and the rubble of what, through our work,

had been built.

*

Guard against those who’ve seen it all,

they’ll try and tell you what your heart is for.

As sure as the spring grass dreams green things,

you’ll know what you love before you’ve even see it.

*

Take nothing more than what’s been given:

the moon, perhaps, gliding past

the sheerest bank of cirrus

and the nightly allotment of starlight,

expectation will come to heel, and the darkness

will wheel back to watch you see it turn.