Change, No Change

The meadowlark, dead on a country blacktop,
is two ways removed from the wreck of Earth.

The bird and our hearing are silenced.
The charm of its small beauty erodes into the ditch.

Out of our natural distances we have much
to offer by way of our misunderstanding:

Misunderstanding the meadowlark
we are always in awe of its beauty

and the joy we misunderstand
to be the bird’s joy, not ours—and broken.

Misunderstanding death we remain
in awe of the power we believe

belongs to some force called Death.
How dully fearsome to see death as it is:

the simple molecular change into no-change.
Better for me that I slip into the lake

and feel again over my whole body
the constant change in changeless water.

Richard Fenton Sederstrom was raised and lives in the Sonoran Desert of Arizona and the North Woods of Minnesota. Sederstrom is the author of seven books of poetry, his newest book, Icarus Rising, Misadventures in Ascension, published by Jackpine Writers' Bloc, was released last winter. Read other articles by Richard Fenton.