Well I guess I’ve still got this blog thing going, though I’ve been neglecting it a little lately. I’ve been preoccupied, and doing more worrying and fussing than thinking. When I try to put my finger on something I’ve been thinking about lately — beyond the heart’s poor, sore tremblings in the face of the monolithic Moment — there’s nothing there. So it goes. Here’s a new poem.

Life Comes

Imagine a bowling ball was left
in the center of a large parking lot
in the darkness of early morning.
Maybe the parking lot of a Wal-mart
store, with no cars. So picture
the fade-in: the camera slowly
pulls back from the surface
of this black bowling ball
on the pitch black tarmac.
Black on black, deep blue,
a line of gray as something
more than nothing finally
comes with the sun still
cold beyond the blunted hills.

No one can be blamed
for all of this, least of all
the sleeping animals, dead
to the world which is dead
to them, but a soft
and indefensible hope for the day.
So I rise passively, already surrendered,
knowing life has come for me again,
that whatever comes for me between
this hot shower and the hour when
I pull the sheet over my head
and pretend to be hidden again tonight,
none of it is personal. It’s just
another day on its own terms.

J. Kyle Kimberlin
Draft, June 2, 2006