to a Cold Star
august air does not convert
the ape bent on knees and elbows
weighing the usage of rock bone.
A million years flow and we're nothing still
but animals, prolonged infancy of the species
and barbaric ceremonies, a haunting thin trill
faintly repetitious. And wasted time, brittle lights,
peculiar smells mold the cold star.
2River View, 1_4 (Summer 1997)