This is called "The Resignation Letter".
There's a lot of clams in the reading.
This clam doesn't have the slightest idea
what's about to hit.
Well, maybe it does, but it approaches life
with bemused but calm detachment.
And therefore death is no big deal,
not to be avoided or bewailed, even by avoiding.
Now, there is a grace and resignation
as there is a growing sweetness in this clam.
The delivery man rings the second time and turns away.
The bee bounces twice against the florist window
then bumbles on.
Baby quiets by getting what he wants.
Rain moves out to sea.
Lava gobbles up the village.
Villagers ox cart to another island sector
just as the old ones did as part of their cosmology.
Past and future seemingly resigned to simultaneously.
The lovers agree to see no more each other, leaving
behind drinks undrunk and twisted napkins.
The student moves to the next line
leaving the previous unfilled.
So much life we can not have or find or repeat
that so much we had and found.
I've made this mistake 100 times, one thinks.
Preparing to make it again.
One day I'll get rid of these expensive, painful shoes,
but not now, says another, scanning in the closet.
Some things must resign themselves
to becoming something else, champagne flat,
the burning log ash.
After the crash the runner walks with a cane,
but some must expect they'll never change.
Stained tablecloth never unstained.
Mark permanent on the heart.
You pick up a club to throw in the coffin lid
but can't, so turn away dropping it in your pocket.
Thank you.