The First Noble Truth
None will be spared
Not the horse in full tack
that nuzzles a hive
hidden in thick clover when I stop
to listen for a nearby stream
froth at his mouth at the bit
soft mud in the moons
of his shoes
Not the last cardinal gasp
of sun that slipped
beneath the ocean’s arced horizon
as Erebus entered Terror Bay
not the memory of how
high summer’s spilt chalice turned
the river to mosaic beneath
the hospital window
where my father gathered his last
breath as if to tell a secret
for which there is no telling
Not the bawl of wind
as the twister shears
the belfry
not the way the crashing bells speak
in tongues to dairy cows
brisket-deep in prairie grass
eyes rolled white
at the toll of heavy weather
Not the familiar trill
of birdsong spring mornings
feral cats gone fat with their good fortune
not the scritch of cicadas
blind with the sudden light
of their sole raucous season
Not the lantern’s heat as it scrims ghosts
from an old man’s mittened fingers
not the conflagrations out west
that translate the hills to blood
light
Not the woman who sipped
spiked cider with me
one night beneath the Harvest Moon’s
hemorrhaged silver
not my friend who said
this world had lost its wonder
before he baptized himself
with fire
Not the ghosts that shadow us
as we blind ourselves
with hope despite
not the way we can’t help falling
in love
with each ravishing perishable
breath
Frank Paino has four full-length books, including Dark Octaves (2025), winner of the Longleaf Press Book Prize. He has received a Pushcart Prize, The Cleveland Arts Prize in Literature, and an Individual Excellence Award from the Ohio Arts Council. His website is www.frankpaino.net.
Header photo by grigioan, courtesy Pixabay.
