To Choose the Softest Plank

“A mosquito born of a speck of dust

Or a fly born out of a piece of meat,

An eel born of mud” or the word made flesh—

Lie rough on the deck. Choose the softest plank.

Doesn’t matter. The sea will heave you up.

Explanations and quotations only

Go so far, and sometimes observations

Carry them a bit further; other times

They do the extra work of making sense

To some extent, of those observations.

Overhead, the sails of speculation,

All their intricate manifestations

Between full and fully stowed away, furled—

And to the horizon? Waves. Always waves.

Even the quanta are waves, sails whisper.

Sooner or later, this will be over.

The ship will sink to the bottom of dreams

Through the reeds where the invisible eels

Actually breed, spontaneous, if not

Instantaneous, disintegration.