Spiritual Resourcefulness

by Michael Biehl

Every time the world ends,
he breaks out in loneliness,
like chickenpox. Then the worldwheel,
creaking, turns again, not like clockwork,
more like guesswork
and the latest pockmarks commence
to melt.
Last night he heard a beaver
slap the river
with its rich, old tail.
But that might have been one of his rich, old dreams.
No matter. A dream is real
when it has to be.