Nautilus
The world grows young around me
in its constant renewal
and my own eager forgetfulness.
This is how I am able to share
the nightmares of my forefathers
and still enjoy indoor plumbing.
Advancement is illusory
when the planet won’t stop spinning —
each step forward another
fraction of Earth turning
backward beneath my feet.
This no longer depresses me, though
I think that, too, is part of the preparation —
the welcoming of darkness.
The bough that sways and the sun
backlighting it — I could never
hold them still and same
anymore, even if I tried.
Some days they are the only way
I know my eyes still tell the truth —
that the world is not completely unhinged,
that no matter what, some things persist.