On Living Tomorrow

A new hat at my age! Miracles

still howl about the parklands

& will surprise any one of us.

What criteria? Is this sorcery, karma

or the stubby immovability of numbers?

I see across the bay to my death –

it is surrounded by the ghosts formed from aviation fuel,

the benzenes of experience. Watch the battle:

my impatience versus the resilient torpidity

of laughter, love & glut.

I have consulted all the experts as they range

parameters of my biological assembly –

the magistrates of rot. Yet somehow that nonsense

still pales beside touch –

this moment is proof against

everything certain & our bleak romances with nullity.