click link to read poem
([_for Christiane Saumur_])
We are dismantling the illusion of nature.
That much beloved thing that generations
have stared at through the glass.
We need to move it to a new location.
We could put it anywhere, as long as
we can crate it up properly and the bigger pieces
fit through the window so the crane
can hook onto them.
Some people think they have made a great
discovery and announce there is nothing but illusion.
They should come and help us move the damn thing
We’ll take the birds out one at a time
and do our best to conserve them. They’re
full of arsenic and god knows what else.
But no dermestids that live on soft tissue and irony.
When it comes to the moose, well, we’ll have to
put it in a sling and hoist it across the atrium.
We’ll make it fly.
No one ever said it was anything but an illusion.
People loved it just the same.
They loved the fact that it was an illusion and they bumped
their noses on the glass looking for the goslings
in the bottom corner.
You can see the streaks.
fn0. _Arc_ 56, Summer 2006