For A.C., D.B.C, and especially Z.O.C.
I meet my neighbors’ child, Olivia,
From time to time, carried in the harness
Strapped to her father’s chest, oblivious,
Unmoved by all our bleak world’s foul distress.
I’ve never heard her cry, and when she peers
At me, my creviced bearded face, she smiles,
Perceiving there some cosmic joke. No fear
Distorts her ambiance. And she, beguiled
(Not deceived, enchanted rather), clutches
My finger in that tiny, tiny fist,
And laughs, as if the universe were touched—
Confined within her grasp—some tactile grist
To grind within her bright, pure, nascent mind—
Dark knowledge-free—where primal wisdom shines.
(9/23/07)