We Little Historians

We did not stop the Praetor Maximus
so here we write apologies but not in
alexandrines or rhythms articulate as
his marching olives because we were in
love with our flashy screens and blithe
distractions that could coast us through
another trouble.
We were all little addictions and addicted
to things like cakes and water colors
violins and horsetail tightened bows
all the biggest and prettiest superlatives
and addicted to our mercy all by instinct
not knowing our heartedness as device
for the blankest.
We were simple words arranged as
lovely sounds in paper stacks against
all the ugly photographs of dead coasts
where once fine things grew happy to
be an origin of intent as the emerald crab or
a landscape painter favoring water
over water colors.
We loved too much becoming experts on
the droplet or addicted to little molecules
or being little molecules unable to condense
a storm, and now we write apologies so
without eurhythmic percussions
to ourselves while we hurt
to watch the sun
a strange color
setting in the wrong direction.

Copyright © 2007 Nicolas A. Destino All rights reserved
from The American Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission