2 Poems–George Moore


Tree-ring fingers
print what we have become
the corrupters of pollen
the ashen men
molecules of a lost precipitation
before the returning flood
the mud slides
as oceans ooze and rise

and isotopic biomarkers
getting fractionated
along our particular metabolic
pathway (no spiritual
renewal in matter
on the same)
until the waters rinse us clean
or wash us away

our chemical signatures
are hard grips on climatic zones
fearing that we might fall
off, the earth spinning
haphazardly (our
dream of it):

we are air trapped
in this thin epoch
outside others
the poor water’s salinity
and each scramble we make
breaks loose another eon

but it is only ice
sliding into the sea
that marks our passage
back into naïve
rudimentary as fissures
in the tundra

we scrawl our signature
in the crystallized moment
thinking this name
lasts, outlast forecasts
of the next species
those who in their innocence
inherit our decline

After Cavafy

There is, of course, in each of us
this Greek god, this mad desire for love
with a world that does not respond.

What have you heard of the others,
burned alive or beaten to death for love?
They are not martyrs, but magicians

cured of their fears by human crowds.
What was the last thing you heard: love
is only a word?  The seas will drown

those blasphemies, the gods rise up
and wipe the earth clean of this false love
that does not know right from wrong.

GEORGE MOORE‘s The Hermits of Dingle will be published from Future Cycle Press later this year.  His fourth collection, Children’s Drawings of the Universe, is also forthcoming from Salmon Press.  He has published poems in The Atlantic Monthly, Poetry, Northwest Review, and Colorado Review, among others. He was nominated recently for Pushcart Prizes, Best of the Web and Best of the Net awards, and was a finalist for The Rhysling Poetry Prize, and the Wolfson Poetry Prize. He teaches at the University of Colorado, Boulder. (His website is http://spot.colorado.edu/~mooreg/Site/About.html).


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