That his father had had to leave Ukraine
was the mystery that penetrated a world view
before he had one. He could see in the pebbles,
in the gravel sidewalk, the fragility of location.
The sky seemed lower on school days. The war
was radio then, the pictures it made in his mind
something like a dramatic storm, the cannons
muffled in dark clouds, a bolt now and then
rifling toward ground. Those who had once landed
on Iwo Jima wore no medals and told no stories.
Now the storm in the mind that covered world events
has come to earth, and up from the earth.
Tsunami and flood roughen the mind. What smooth
talk or thought rivals the revelations of force?
Those who lose homes or lives elsewhere
are proof of the absurd. You want philosophy?
I’m here, dry, plenty to eat and drink. I came here
by dumb luck. I have a little money to give away.
They say you can grow up to be anything.
I wanted to do more than survive. More than love.