Transience Before The Tides
by Notty Bumbo, 2015
I had nothing to say
So said everything,
The cries of young otters
Rising from the small back bay,
Where the wind carried omens by night.
If there are gods they are damned
Before they begin their odysseys,
Have only their lies and intransigence
To keep their memory awake.
All the tomes of the ancients
Bristled with pride,
Burned, molded, eaten by worms.
Evening brings the calls of curlews,
Racing the tides.
What I listen for is the earnest attempt,
The long reach for the stars.
Anything less is unworthy of utterance.
What we say does not always make it
Into the book that is read.