Even Now, My Dear

Even now, my dear Futility,

as longer days bring red buds

to the tip of every branch, and sparrows

dive among the melting drops

to gather seeds, revealed

by the receding ice, I see you

in line, waiting

to pay for your sandwich. You

pretend not to notice,

in that tweed coat, holding

your hat

like an estranged uncle, for

you know that long

after the sparrow dies,

the tree falls, is cut into chunks

and put into the woodstove; even the ice

turns to water, becomes mist

and dissipates, you know

that you and I, Futility,

will meet at the lunch counter. You will

quietly buy me a cup of coffee.

No need to stand

by the wet fire escape and scream

obscenities at the stars,

for I recognize you,

your faint smile,

as the lone survivor comes to recognize

he will not make the shore,

and for the first time he sees

how the moon alights

upon a slow black ocean.