Sunday, March 6, 2011

Duane Ackerson: "Praising Little"

Let us praise little:

dust, pilgrims resting on plateaus,
the world inside the wind
of a vacuum cleaner,
the mouth of the navel
rehearsing small speeches
of lint, pockets full of replies;

things moving under stones:
bugs, small black flames
licking through woodpiles,
worms stretching their tendons
when you try to pull earth free from itself

parachutists, blossoms falling and
folding back into two-stemmed flowers,
walking away

dogs performing under the grandstands
while the elephants attempt
to climb up on each other

the mist, no larger than a gray caterpiller
as it climbs hills
to reach your eyes;

the past, becoming a small small ball
as it richochets off one thought
then another,

bouncing further and further
back into the brain.

[from the chapbook, "The Bird at the End of the Universe"]