The history of civilization flows
against the tides of innocence.
The child who laughs with the sea
as he destroys his sandcastle, driving the king into oblivion
Meditation on designs.
Somewhere, a precise biologist says
that adults are mere appendages of the embryo.
You're dying to produce another embryo, and then depart.
The only Immortal Life, he says, is the cancer cell.
Its one ambition, to return us all to an ancient freedom.
Somewhere, a confused poet says death
is submission to the future.
An infant dancing on the backs of lovers
as they embrace on ancient graves.
Somewhere, a stark philosopher says
that every increase in consciousness
brings an equal increase in despair.
Cain in the womb slays Abel once again because he
was a prophet of futurity: so much closer to the stars,
but so very far from paradise.
What shall we do with the trial of Galileo?
The witches dangling from the gallows past.
The hallowed dead of a thousand wars.
We live out our time, defy its limits, deny its judgments,
and demand a bedtime story.
An old, familiar story.
Once upon a time, when there was no time.
The middle of the story went on and on.
Yet we are the builders, or the destroyers,
filling out a design dimly seen between the beginning of memory
and the end of grief.