The Lightness of
Kafka
After the hurtling days of spinning
This right speed feels like
standing still, no one
getting ahead, even the songbirds
alight to ponder,
streaking jet vapor markers of
what was too fast
what will not last,
all is gone down into the dark
all is listening as nothing is
distracting, in the darkness
we don’t even sit, don’t even wait,
the world rolls in waves,
puppies wriggling at our
feet, we don’t have to become insects
to feel the oddness and
the delight
bundling around us
the wind shifts the north leans down,
leaves askitter,
jets leave only
the slightest signs of vanishing
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