As sirens of firetrucks and police cars
Pierce the restless air with their screaming
And you barely hear them because louder alarms
Crush the corridors of your brain and you
Couldn’t cope with the crashing that was There
Already — you whistle — if you know how to —
Or you sigh — if you remember how to — or
You shake your head in recognition of Of.
There is a forest somewhere in long ago
And it still sparkles — a photograph
That is a picture of the present past —
But you would not look. And to find the woods
Is far beyond possibility — but you are
Glad about that, and, too, the noises of Now.
Firestone Feinberg’s poetry and paintings can be found at firestonefeinberg.com.