A beautiful and wrinkled face
Must sense
That there is an answer out there
Alone with the stars
It must seem
That there is some kind of music without sound
What it must feel to an ape
To listen to the noise of the world
A dying world
And know that it needs to die more slowly
To crawl instead of run
Slow enough for an ape to know
The dying has stopped
And the tears
Have stopped falling from the heavens


The resounding harshness of a dream
That has spilled unto life
That a threadbare hope exists
That a tattered healing can begin
That we are jealous of an earlier time
When nature was a dance
And every transcendence
Was delicate and wondrous
And now—what now?
Is there some formulation
Of meaning that undestroys
All that has been destroyed
Is there some magic
Some sunflower for the ape?