Dig Poem by Michael Maxwell Steer

My shattered shards of thought lie spread out,
an incoherent jumble brought
to light by an archæologist,

Lines of individual beauty that don't
connect, more dug up all the time.
What am I seeking? Evidence
that I exist/ed? Buried treasure?

Or do I want it all miraculously
to spring together like a tape played backwards,
where the big bang is reversed, and a beautiful
vase forms in one immaculate gesture?

Thus I, a human, caught between being and doing,
unable to rise or fall, held in suspense
between the polarities of my desire

fully reaching neither sky nor earth,
examine the inner world, searching
for things of beauty, things of coherence -
perhaps the runes of my existence?


14/8/10