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Laura, Toucan Editrice

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Heat, George Bishop

According to the sequence of maps
in this old geology book, the outdoor
fireplace I’m casually feeding tonight
is seated on what once was a seabed,
no visible land in any direction.

And I find myself
looking up and around
as if expecting to see
a vast undulating carpet of water
growing deeper and deeper in the darkness.

Oh, I think about where I’ve been
and where I’m going too much,
not enough time for where I am.
And out of nowhere I feel
an urge to dig for shells,

search the sky for an image
of what a tree will look like
millions of years from now,
right here, where all that seems
to understand is fire.

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