An Irish Walk

by Bob Brussack

You would find them
If they were there,
Beneath the lip of the quay
Or amongst some moss
That’s found a footing in the stone
Or in the damp crevices
Where mortar was.
The Truths, I mean.
The Reasons.
Some assurance.
Something.

Even so,
There’s a fine summer chill
Carried on the breeze,
And the muted cheer
Of morning gray,
And voices
Lilting over the water
And down the lanes.
​And that’s enough for now.

You Have Chosen

by Bob Brussack

For the past 13 billion years or so,
You were not.
The pieces and parts
That are you
Were being forged
In the hearts of stars,
Then were just
Hanging around
Unaware of themselves
Or of anything else.

Now, for a moment —
For less than
The time it takes
For Creation to blink —
Your pieces and parts
Having congealed,
You are.

You have the gifts
Of awareness,
Of thought,
Of action.

And you have chosen
To do what
With these gifts?