Still Water Prose Poems

Copyright @ 1989 by Arthur Garfunkel
ISBN 0-525-24795-5
Used by persmission of Author - All Rights Reserved


    I go to sea because I take too much
for granted. Beyond education there
really is this spinning sphere in space.
And we're all on it spinning and sliding
in relativity. You and me.

    Forget the endlessness. At best
we're just a Spalding in a mausoleum;
we're the powder on the ball.

    We're a chip of stonework slowly
falling from a vaulting rib, The Milky
Way, in a chancel bay of the Notre
Dame. In clerestory light, on the deck
in the night I see that Gothic Rib—like
chalkdust it stripes the entire dome, a
trick or treat of countless spheres at the
end of the eye's discernment. Me and
the firmament all in a galaxy, tinsel
chips on a pinwheel blade.

Atlantic crossingJuly 1984