Antarctic Ambivalence
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
We think of death . . . and warmth is hardly part
Of such reflection. Buddha does not think
Of death as much as he attempts to chart
The passage to Nirvana. Prophets wink
At us but mostly they do not reveal
With certainty the kind of concrete thing
We want to know. Their honor puts a seal
On oracles’ true coal-burned lips. They sing,
If singing anything at all, of sere
Ambivalence. They know that icebergs ride
With coldness always in their atmosphere
And really they cannot expect a tide
To take them to a warmer Gulf Stream realm.
No change will from some prophetic helm.
