Look through the window.
Trees have a singular purpose
and it’s not to be beautiful
or to shed leaves, like tears,
into the pond (which knows many forms)
once more lapping against its muddy borders,
once more housing hearts, heartbeats,
Yesterday, a month ago, two seasons ago, a year ago,
six-hundred full moons ago, eons ago, star-births ago,
now minus X ago—it was a solid as cinder
and the children were playing hockey—
falling, fighting, learning physical laws.
A nose bled freely onto the ice;
the reeds shivered and bowed.
Nothing is temporary; everything is forever.
Though we must forgive ourselves
for our misinterpretation of time.
At some point along liquid infinity,
our atomized hearts will coalesce again
to pass along one last throbbing missive:
submit sooner—sublimate with grace
and then break apart once more
scattering their quarks
out to the milky perimeter,
the ineffable border of the stretching plane
where they will glide across the black gulf
like pucks slapped towards the net.
About the Poet
Amir A. Tarr is completing his M.D. at University of Miami with a focus on psychiatry and gender identity. He received an M.S. in bioethics from Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai and a B.S. in psychology from UW-Madison. His poetry and fiction has been featured or is forthcoming in Chiron Review, One Throne Magazine, Rust+Moth, The NewerYork, and elsewhere. His work in the field of medical humanities has been featured in the The American Journal of Psychiatry, Academic Psychiatry, Medical Encounter, Neurology, Psychoanalytical Perspectives, The Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, and JGIM.