Officium Horarum


Somewhere someone has said: to go
where it is difficult,
and therefore painful,
and therefore necessary
– this is the office of the poet

Yes, yes: the torment; storm’s wauling
and reel; the intensity we are so willing
to make of suffering (as if it needed more)…

All that.

But what, say you, of the dishes
presently requiring your attention?
What of heat in summer,

plodding, oafish?

You will say: “empty”
You will say: “meaningless”

Just so.

But that is the task,
is it not?


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