I can’t believe it’s been a year
when it feels like ten
like a slow dance my mother told me to take.
But the sun sets like a lonely star
wanting to get back
to some galactic love scene, we can’t begin to understand.
Trees learned to live in space before humans.
We experience space everyday
but our skin only darkens
and our eyes swint
while the bones warm without boiling our marrow.
It’s been one trip around the sun
and I only know less about the universe
then I did before.
History repeats like a vinyl record completing its last song.
History repeats as often as parents cry over their children.
Searching for an escape from misery only leads to mystery
like a melting paradox wax candle burnt by the divine.
Paul Ruth is a teacher and writer from Michigan with a M.A. in English. His poetry has appeared with
Silver Birch Press, Indolent Books, and The Literatus. He has also written two novels.