In Vain, Therefore

the jetsam sighs,
	flooding the front hall,
	with the fragile violence etched
	on the captain’s forehead:
some got off at the next-to-last stop;
	others, less fortunate
	were lost on the trail,
	pines and mist carrying over
	until the exit wicket
displaced all thoughts of a former, human time.
	We, it was reasoned,
	led lewd lives, belong with the bears.
A very few carry enough energy to
	create a kinetic bonding arrangement.
	These are the so-called sad ones
	eating alone in restaurants,
	drying their hair . . .
The dandelions are dead and the mud
	of summer.  They
	tell of roasted meats, be oblivion
	but a decade away
	and the waterfall, unused,
	is ruined, it is ruined, is not to stand.