Light in Genoa; Because; Exile
Because
Because, in a wounded universe, the tufts
of grass still glisten, the first daffodil
shoots up through ice-melt, and a red-tailed hawk
perches on a cathedral spire; and because
children toss a fire-red ball in the yard
where a schoolhouse facade was scarred by vandals,
and joggers still circle a dry reservoir;
because a rainbow flaunts its painted ribbons
and slips them underneath a blood-drenched earth;
because in a smoky bar the trombone blares
louder than street sirens, because those
who can no longer speak of pain are singing;
and when on this wide meadow in the park
a full moon still outshines the city lights,
and on returning home, below the North Star,
I see new bricks-and-glass where the Towers fell;
and I remember my love’s calloused hand
soften in my hand while crab-apple blossoms
showered our laps, and a yellow rose
opened with its satellites of orange buds,
because I cannot lose the injured world
without losing the world, I’ll have to praise it.