by John Grey

according to a friend.,
this world is all signature —
God’s –

I just see rocks and trees
and water and grass
like food in a feeder
placed haphazard
by circumstance,
not carefully by hands —

but we agree on one thing —
it’s here –
we’re on it –
we’re not astonished every day
that we occupy a place –

bodies and minds
in space and time
whole lives lived
behind whatever bulwarks Earth provides
in a rapacious milky way
with its predator meteors and flares and implosions

we fill in our days with words
and customs, pretenses and homilies –

a friend counters everything with faith –
I could live with astronomy if I knew more –
otherwise, I’m on this round, spinning, orbiting
existential compromise –

it’s a curious place
but I’ve learned to live with it –

ozone, a thick crust, run welcome interference —
old fire, ancient gravity,
pull together as granite —
storms rage, time holds firm rein,
what’s not a thought
is a thing.

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John Grey is an Australian born poet. Recently published in The Lyric, Vallum and the science fiction anthology, “The Kennedy Curse” with work upcoming in Bryant Literary Magazine, Natural Bridge, Southern California Review and the Pedestal.