In the presence of the present
that was present all along,
some things are terribly right
and some are terribly wrong.
Some things are terribly clear
and some are still subliminal.
They’re singing the same old song
from the new Higgs Boson Hymnal.
The octopus dreams of the fisherman’s wife.
The sea is a gift and an affliction.
The trees outside my window
are bare without exception.
The dishwasher’s gulping water.
The world’s been brought to its knees.
Fingers reach for the moon
on the boughs’ extremities.
© Ciaran O'Driscoll 2012