Saturn’s rings are unremarkable,
our science saw to this —
so what! of the remains
of a concretion mangled
and arranged, holier than holes.
Strange bliss, this apathy
as all these motions proscribed
and tranced. There are no people
here just corpuscle and womb,
just tomb and odd oblation.
Sooner a dog’s share of wonder:
musk in the grass, the rattle
of sharp brown leaves,
the opening door,
the wounded wasp.
Sooner the hum of the first
law, Absence — than the bones
of a man too heavened to reach.
Sooner the paucity of mules
than this mewling over grief.
Image: NASA https://solarsystem.nasa.gov
An enthralling poem Devon. A poem to return to.
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
– Hamlet (1.5.167-8)
Thank you so much, John. The things we pen in winter.