A Twitching Proof

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A TWITCHING PROOF


If understanding were a feast,

my personal experience would be

a morning’s clinging aftertaste,

a faint remembrance of something I once

enjoyed but since puréed until

the flavors lost identity. I still 


believe in good and God and in

a certain objectivity, the latent kind 

that lingers like a coffee tongue

to taint the taste of everything, 

but now I find the evidence

in that which naming 'evidence'    


is quite a stretch, like Monday when

the radio was testifying that a change

is gonna come and I became

the instrument of change to something

underneath my wheel. I felt alive 

and dead at once, but oddly positive 


that someone other than myself

was at that moment grieving for the loss.

Again, I wouldn't deign to call

it full-proof, but still, the twitching squirrel  

with his little hands uplifted in

 an aftertaste of praise was evidence.


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