What to do when the mind's little brain
having risen late in the by-now-
faltering East, prepares to sink
suddenly into the failures of
It is unsettling, that
our secret poems should bear fruit so
unbearably. Why, the tension we
experience is what gives us such
presence! Comfort me. Am I alive?
Dad, why is Jonah always a cat?
Why is snow so white and cold? Why can't
I see my back? When you walk across
The floor why do I hear you on the
ceiling? The tattered means to these ends
are inspiring. Thus generations
consider it obvious to test
my force. Outside the row of dark pines
along the drive continues to sway.
Surely at the farthest reaches of
the universe there is a little
further to contemplate. Failing that:
follow this set of footprints in the
snow until they fade among the trees.
What is it with these dreams, anyway?
I wander in and out of sight, seek
shorter days - I'm some guy in them who
feeds horses. You wait for stars and light.
by Jay MillAr
from: OTHER POEMS (Christmas Poems Suite), published by Nightwood Editions in 2010