The Necessary Connection

by Les

Homeward now, sunset. Steel cranes on a half-finished building
point up, blaming sky. You wonder how these are relevant
to anything, or is it just the dreaming that creates
the illusion of height. There must be a connection

between traffic and trees, houses and rain
the occasional bird and telephone wires. Meaning,
is it secreted by sewers? Does it fall from sky?
Will it be enough to nourish a drought? And why

do you keep vigil by the car window, each passing thing
like a rosary bead. In memory’s interstices,
a necklace of mysteries. You call it
the human condition, or asking why a person

should walk off the ledge and its converse: Why not?
You imagine the cranes would care to dip down
winch up the broken body and offer it to dusk,
demanding no explanation.