Some men look at the world with open

distrust and with longing. Others

soften their faces with beards.

Youth passes over both like a cloud. 

Fashions change, but we remain— 

altered versions of our former selves.

I used to think the path would be obvious,

that we would cross over a threshold

and suddenly become

knowledgeable women

& men, but instead we learn only

the depths of our ignorance.

I don't even know if we threw rice 

at your wedding, though I remember 

a cake, topped with two candied 

owls and that I was late, carrying

the veil to your bride. 

Just yesterday you were correcting

my sentences, and the boy—sleeping

upstairs—was only a prayer.

Last night, I referred to The Book

of Good Fortune and learned 

this lunar year will be ruled over 

by tyrants. Thus we continue

to gather evidence that steadily

echoes our trespasses. 

The only things I have learned

with certainty are the words

for my errors and to try

to stand even, even when

discord turns underfoot.

Each dawn is a strange 

murmuration of starlings, 

inexplicable as the force

and the virtue of will. 

Copyright 2017 | Pet Murmur