Up north the Navy is toasting
its forty-billion dollar aircraft carrier with
wedding vintage Champagne across the bow.
In California it is raining crystal tears
from Richter-shaken chandeliers
and somewhere electricity surges,
the bulb inflames,
then blows itself to bits.
Someone in Wiesbaden has just
bobsledded faster than the speed of sound.
He screamed with delight, but it was too late.
In the Middle East no peace effort
is as firm as the handshake,
or as long-lasting.
our beloved's eyes are mirrors,
the next, splintery ice.
We surround ourselves with
eggs, china, pencils,
crayons, windows, silence.
We are built from bones
and teeth and tender skin.
Our fevers spike, then break.
And the heart--always broken
yet full-speed ahead, that heart
no doctor can put a stethoscope to.