From his newest collection, Application for Release from the Dream.
Some birds are people-watchers.
The worms can hear us stomping over them.
The loaves and fishes multiplied the Christians.
We were wrong about so many things.
We thought the world was mute,
or dead, or just disinterested.
Yet the sunrise liked being looked at
by sleepy cabdrivers. The billboard
was unashamed of its Southern Comfort ad.
The night wind rustled
through the tops of cedar trees
standing all around a certain house
where worried people
lay in bed and listened.
What were the names
of those old Greek gods?
And where did they go?
Atlas—he’s the one
who spent a long time
what did not belong to him.