It
in different ways: for Meindert it was this
Rutted road
to
Middleharnis; Thomas would have it
We all live in a universe of tenpins
Where short, nasty brutes decapitate
The heads of kings as happily as they might blow the suds
Off a stein of ale in the tavern just up the road,
Where to this day a sepia reproduction of the painting
Hangs above the fire.
It
was painted in
1669;
Hobbes died a decade later. Ars longa, vita brevis.
DAN CHIASSON
Peach Tree
When did I plant this peach tree in my sleep and why
now does it seem
to
bloom
as though in answer
to
a prayer?
I did not ask
to
see the tree extend its bough so far
it almost disappeared
but finally unfolded this white flower.
I lived so long fear ing the world's quaint
insufficiencies were mine-
as air would conjure earth, earth air
I stared at the little life made in my name, and thanked
the immediate and thanked the near.
I thanked my mother and my father and my other
mother and my other father, but when I
thanked them all I still
had fearfulness inside of me, mysterious.
