At the end of time,
God spoke with Solomon.
“What’s the best thing in
life? Wisdom, or youth?”
“Youth,” said the king.
“Wise answer,” said God, clasping
the lock of the toy box.
Solomon said, “I would have given
that same word were I still young.”
“Back then, the word would’ve been
a foolish thing to say.”
“And do I not belong inside?”
pointing at the cosmos-in-the-box.
God handed him the box,
wiped His hands, and left
the grey king forever
in the black without a key.
* * *
Beyond the jagged line of the year
is you and me abandoned to
Laughing about it;
the backhoes are having their say
As we speak, the jackhammers,
men with kerchiefs for mouths.
Good as new. Able to
withstand. The future / our duty.
Was it not the taller question
Back in the day? And might yet grow,
your hand in mine, your other
Elbow tucked in the corner of the window sill,
Behind us the children, the
judgment of their faces asleep.