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      June 26, 2024The State of ItM.P. Carver

      The train
      cuts across
      the marsh.
      The fence
      cuts across
      the forest.
      The bridge
      cuts across
      the river.
      Our stone, steel,
      and electric bones
      grow and grow.
      Industriously,
      we rib
      the planet.
      The rib cage
      protects
      the chest.
      The chest
      traps
      the heart.
      Our hearts
      beat and beat.
      We know
      that someday
      they won’t, still
      we can’t help
      but think
      that this,
      too,
      is something
      we can cut
      across.

      from #84 – The Ghazal

      M.P. Carver

      “I write because I’ve never found anything that sidles up closer to the ineffable than poetry. A beautiful failure.”

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