“I Do Not Own the Day”
I do not own the day;
What lights I see are ever there
And even in the darkest nights, the glare,
Of obsolescence reigns as overweening reason. Some say
I’ve signed the lease and now they own the rights.
True enough, they see their own reflections
In the briefest prayer and genuflections
To the idylls and the idols in a pantheon of dative rites.
Stalagmites seek stalactites; weighty particles in flight
As shadows formed of certitude from purest light
In solitary moments, as when some deft slight
Of hand applauds the synapses, a gemütlichkeit
In static sparks and all that comes of friction
In the sweetness of ambergris, the lubricant of all our fiction.