--Robert Thomas
You say it doesn't mean a blessed thing,
but don't you see—that's what I want. That's what
I envy. The ocean ebbs, revealing
blue anemones, yellow barnacles,
a lone iridescent abalone.
It feels nothing for the moon, whose being
transformed it into this revelation
in tide pools. What human being would say
it means nothing? What it means is the most
blessed thing imaginable. The hide
of a noble horse becomes glue that holds
the ribs of Itzhak Perlman's violin
as it sings Mozart and Rachmaninoff.
Tell me what he does to you means nothing.

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