Eilis

Gone (Ruth Stone)

Now fragmented as any bomb,
I make no lasting pattern;
and my ear not cut off
in the logic of a van Gogh,
an offering of angry love,
is merely blown to bits
in a passing wave of violence.
Therefore I hear such fragments
as make no meaning.
A theater of the ridiculous,
beyond the absurd
and beyond that, scattered —
not like stars, but like the coalescing
weight of gravity, thin and meaningless,
until, tenuous, like the finest web
stretched out, it collapses and carries all
into a single disappearing zero.