After Leonard Cohen
The mind keeps thinking and thinking itself
into and out of existence, uncertain, invisible.
In the wreckage signals were missed,
death, distance, depression, time is a cannibal.
History shades everything.
But who is not more than his indecisions?
Time’s prism also offers the possible,
and that may be enough to see us through
when History stings us with its needle,
leaves us vacant, sleepy, at a loss for words.