class Listen   //:  the more we know, the wider the unknown

        extends

        Life /*

               has such short runtime, languages
    die
          daily; beyond your workstation
                                      Spring is unfolding —
        */        {

     int o,the;
              void run ( /*
           gladly! The day
               is planted in
           */     ) {
            short bursts,of,birdsong;
            long kisses,

    devour, every;
                    byte hungrily;

         /*   do not be programmed
      by your programming:    */

        try {   while(this instanceof Life){
                            continue;//s,living
                }
            }

        catch ( /* the Sun
            rising over wide plains, an eyeful
         of wild iris.

              Without */
              Exception
                            Love ) {
          for(int o,
                  the,ether,    we,
                        so,quickly
                  ;
             ; ) {
            return;
          }
        }
    }
}

Dave the undigger, undigging his soul,
didn’t know where to begin.

I had a shovel and offered to help him,
but shovelling started the sin.

He couldn’t just fill it; that wouldn’t fix it.
He didn’t know where to begin.

Dave the undigger, undigging his soul,
trying to unhurt his heart.

Wielding my shovel, I struggled to help him,
I didn’t know where to start.

Dave the undigger, undigging his soul,
made unforgetting an art.

In darkness the doctor
reveals my anatomy: on backlit film, a shock
of bright white bone;
the white of mandibles and ribs
hollow, loosely strewn
through prairie grass.

I nod, pretend I’m listening,
pretend that I can hear her speaking
over the clickety-clack
of hammer, stirrup, anvil:

Bones.
My bones, white
and brittle stones, marrowless,

and untied

       /* */   /* */

At twilight I find myself locked
in another pair of eyes, my heart
forgetting its mortality, beating
with a terrifying fervor; hot
blood surging miraculously,

perhaps
                                (I think)

               futilely,
                              and hesitate; it

would be
              so easy so

difficult; and in a blink, the evening
unhinges, scatters us, sunbleached
over dark, fertile plains.

Waiting for an MRI…

(more…)