Canto XLIII

That flush of red that’s splashed across the Thames—
viewed from the bus while crossing Tower Bridge—
will never, ever meet my sight again

the way it meets me now; one couldn’t stage
these many factors to converge like this,
so all that’s left’s to sit and acknowledge

the sumptious vision that I would have missed
if I had kept my head down while reading
the latest scoops from neuroscientists.

I hear that in Japan, businessman drink
for hours beneath a tree that flowers at night,
whose petals all die out by morning.

I wish I had a dram to pass about
to fellow passengers that steal a glance
before this blazing moment fizzles out

and we are no longer the chosen ones.

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Aug 21, 2012 @ 00:23:08

    Is this a satori moment?
    The poem describes the moment to perfection.

    Reply

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