Joel Toledo

 Yes, the world is strange, riddled with difficult

sciences
and random magic. But there are compensations,
things we do
perceive: the high cries and erratic spirals of
sparrows,
the sky gray and now giving in to the regular rain.
Still we insist on meaning, that common
consolation
that every now and then makes for beauty. Or
disaster.
 Listen. The new figures are simply those of birds,
the whole notes of their now flightless bodies
snagged
on the many scales of the city. And it’s just some
thunder,
the usual humming of wires. It is only in its
breaking
that the rain gives itself away. So come now and
assemble
with the weather. Notice the water gathering on
your cupped
 and extended hands—familiar and wet and
meaningless.
You are merely being cleansed. Bare instead

the scarred heart; notice how its wild human

music
makes such sense. Come the diving

can wait.
Let us examine the wreckage.