Diner in Rockville You know every moment, however patchwork
(mere transit, refueling),
partakes of the Absolute
to which your least thought is a recondite
footnote,
that the girl at the counter, foursquare
at the crossroads her beauty
forever places her in, is yours
in eternity
(desire also returning),
and although global warming
seed the planet
with squalid, survivor-eating
flowers, the vast
library of leaves this past,
moist October has opened
remains. That the barely fictional
madman who handed
the last non-professional
to speak with him his greatest
work, a blank book, then dismissed
her philistine refusal or
unwillingness to interpret,
was right. So if the door opened,
and the friend
who never quite existed
entered and ordered
something inadequate,
what would you discuss
or do but turn away, the gold leaves flying?
|