This urge to do whatever can be done
to stop the headlong speed—
to stand tight, courageous against
a thunder of mad grizzlies
driving us steady toward the still,
unguarded moment of dusk.
Even if I marshal every motley
hero to my cause—somehow
convinced everyone on earth
to stop moving—the grass will
go damp. The tulip’s elastic petals
close. The night bullies the room.
The stars will not hold back.
Sleep pushes in. Yellow grays.
No matter what I desire above
all else, this darling will pass.