1.
voyager
only one poem has ever been written
line them up in the camps
let them shower down
metal rain that rends
weapons and bombs overwhelm
as bodies only withstand up to simple limits
there is a math that subtracts
in the strewn harvest
of bodies as a tornado
pays a visit to the wild woods
splintered angles of spilled wood straws
view the motionless bellows that had sucked air
red mouths, now slack
the stickiness of red
burns in fire’s mouth
a grain in the sock of the front of the shoe
we limp from infinity’s lie
sit upon the cinder road
the pain we cannot reach
shiver, washed over by cold
2.
the horse captive in the stall
the visitor to the barn
slides the latches
pulls open the doors
hears the breathing before seeing
the sway of great gray legs
knock kneed humility
the impossible weight on four hooves
and the great sideways eyes
liquid in the sheen of light
that poem is in process
we are not sending a message to aliens
we send a message to ourselves
trying to see ourselves from outside
as if there is a fixed arrival time or place
3.
intention cannot live
in the kingdom of equanimity
you may sit down at the table of beasts
at any moment
but the host leaves when you open your eyes
not allowed
to allow your hand touch love
banned, too
the thought before the thought
Orpheus turns to Eurydice
and all is lost
yet
not one rule or one word is against us
simply that true love abides in its own physics
we continue the endless habit of slaughter
can I be honest? we ask in conversation
never say that—
her voice flawless
but she could not long hold her child
she lost her mind
grace stolen
by the drug of hope
poems do not save us as us
that was never the purpose,
never the possibility
we find our self
by getting over ourself
4.
at the last barrier
the guard will ask the passing word
and if you are stymied
you will not pass
you will sit looking for an answer on a small wood bench
at the top of the mountain
from that little house just below and below
and from valley upon valley
echoes of fire travel up and travel down
to go forward is always to have a back
you are allowed the single glance
after that, you no longer can read a map
your eyes have been put out
two shelled eggs rolling in the dust
the voyager without a sound,
without a whisper
when at home, lost everywhere
pass, pilgrim
pass on
James Shapiro has been busy writing for a long time, more on than off. After some years as a journey runner and a Zen Buddhist student, Shapiro wrote Meditations from the Breakdown Lane: Running Across America. He has been teaching school in New York for many years and has been publishing poems over the past couple of years.