Weightlessly shrinking, bleached into the void.

We offer you the landscape of your birth—

Exquisite and despoiled. We all share blame.

We cannot ask forgiveness of the earth

For killing what we cannot even name.”

THE END OF THE WORLD

“We’re going,” they said, “to the end of the world.”

So they stopped the car where the river curled,

And we scrambled down beneath the bridge

On the gravel track of a narrow ridge.

We tramped for miles on a wooded walk

Where dog-hobble grew on its twisted stalk.

Then we stopped to rest on the pine-needle floor

While two ospreys watched from an oak by the shore.

We came to a bend, where the river grew wide

And green mountains rose on the opposite side.

My guides moved back. I stood alone,

As the current streaked over smooth flat stone.

Shelf by stone shelf the river fell.

The white water goosetailed with eddying swell.

Faster and louder the current dropped

Till it reached a cliff, and the trail stopped.

I stood at the edge where the mist ascended,

My journey done where the world ended.

I looked downstream. There was nothing but sky,

The sound of the water, and the water’s reply.

SHOPPING

I enter the temple of my people but do not pray.

I pass the altars of the gods but do not kneel

Or offer sacrifices proper to the season.

Strolling the hushed aisles of the department store,

I see visions shining under glass,

Divinities of leather, gold, and porcelain,

Shrines of cut crystal, stainless steel, and silicon.

But I wander the arcades of abundance,

Empty of desire, no credit to my people,

Envying the acolytes their passionate faith.

Blessed are the acquisitive,

For theirs is the kingdom of commerce.

Redeem me, gods of the mall and marketplace.

Mercury, protector of cell phones and fax machines,

Venus, patroness of bath and bedroom chains,

Tantalus, guardian of the food court.

Beguile me with the aromas of coffee, musk, and cinnamon.

Surround me with delicately colored soaps and moisturizing creams.

Comfort me with posters of children with perfect smiles

And pouting teenage models clad in lingerie.

I am not made of stone.

Show me satins, linen, crêpe de chine, and silk,

Heaped like cumuli in the morning sky,

As if all caravans and argosies ended in this parking lot

To fill these stockrooms and loading docks.

Sing me the hymns of no cash down and the installment plan,

Of custom fit, remote control, and priced to move.

Whisper the blessing of Egyptian cotton, polyester, and cashmere.

Tell me in what department my desire shall be found.

Because I would buy happiness if I could find it,

Spend all that I possessed or could borrow.

But what can I bring you from these sad emporia?

Where in this splendid clutter

Shall I discover the one true thing?

Nothing to carry, I should stroll easily

Among the crowded countertops and eager cashiers,