The Particulars

*

The god of the toothpaste is not the god of the davenport.
The god of my knees is not the god of last Tuesday.
The god of the motorcar is not the god of pajamas.
The god of stuttering is not the god of disinfectant.
The god of the ledger is not the god of the wine bottle.
And so on in this vein,
Each thing with its own god.

*

Consider, there were so many things.   Each claimed
  attention.

The early morning was hazy.   We could hardly see the
  trees.

I cried out in the night.  You calmed me, as always.
It was the old shudders come back.   I’ve learned to outlive
    them.

After that, I slept soundly.   I got up and packed.
The mist was rising.   There were patches of sun.
We could see the fields clearly.   But the hills were still
  dim.

A man was out walking.   He met another man with a dog.
There was a low mound like a ruin.   They kept walking
toward it.

We left them behind.   Our train crossed a bridge.
Someone came by selling coffee.   It was tasteless, but hot.
There were more houses now.   And schools, hospitals,
 factories.

And here was our station.   Bells rang in the distance.
We saw posters for the opera.   We saw posters for bars.
My suitcase felt heavy.   We wondered about taxis.
We wondered about restaurants.   Were we wise to have
 come?

It was now mid-October.   We walked through fallen
 leaves.

We approached what was next.   And, next, things would
 happen.

*

Consider the particulars,

Those forces working,

Each with its god.