Driving home tonight, and just before I get to my final turn
the streetlight turns a couple kissing on the corner
into the silhouette of a bear.

I arrive and exit the car to see the back yard teeming
with moving shadows as headlights shift the darkness
back and forth across the grass and between the trees.

A moth flies into my face as I come to the front door.
It’s not so cold here tonight though
there is snow north of here; still, in late October, 

any insect still moving is a shock in the dark.

How can I dare trust anything I see, anything at all? 
I ask for nothing except certainty on the smallest scale,
and I’m about ready to pull out my eyes to get it.

This is the story, this is the news, this is the editorial
no one wants to read; no one wants to admit we’re all longing
to fall into a blind moment, to stop seeing the world as it is,

to stop the shadows from moving back and forth across our paths,
to stop our people from changing into beasts before our eyes,
to stop before we have to admit

that nothing we’ve ever known is still safe and sure.


About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

2 responses to “Certainty

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