Poetry and Poetics
We keep poor records. What matters most
happens so slowly no records are kept at all.
Sad, not tragic. The evidence against romance
grows weak with the years, as years gain strength.
Unpaintable beauty versus all those millions
of paintbrushes and still paintbrush factories
are busy as ever, even now, even as we lie
to sleep. Venuses and Cupids, mere children
of salt and dust, parading lust and want, flaunt
a promise of desire that only fools the young
and the old and especially the middle-aged.
There are times the world and I get along
and times this North Fork of the Bad Axe
River is not just enough, but too much.
All that remains now of Romance
is the Romance Tavern and its buffet.
Old age, work, marriage, children—
Romance was abandoned for the usual reasons.
What matters most happens so quick no records
are kept at all. Call it coincidence, convenience
or romance, but this valley cutting quietly
through forest could be excuse enough
for now, for us. There are so few reasons
to be alone and there is so much night.
© by Christopher
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