Leonard Cohen took five years over one song. Maybe I’m rushing.
Our world was never stranger,
enigmas fog us in,
machines decipher numbers,
savior cycling.
Ghostly immigrants
haunt Ellis Island’s hall,
tourists pay to see them,
polish their recall.
Moses lately struck his tent,
Trump says he must have his fence,
and our nation's interference
drives people to their knees.
They burn in Augustine,
they burn to make them lean,
Turner’s coat just lost its sheen,
and there’s beef in Abilene.
The Punic fleet by Rome was sunk,
for John Brown to have his podium.
The light that shines throughout our night
is neither salt nor sodium.
Stones across the water,
skim their youthful courses,
and circles mark where they have sunk,
the sword of all our forces.
David Ritchie,
Portland,
Oregon.------------------------------------------------------------------
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