With the Demon Again

Which one? Which one,

he pressed, Which one

would you choose, which

encapsulates the yes

you cried in jubilation?



I tried, I tried the test

he gave, it made me ask

which would I save, which

of the numberless moments

would I preserve, favor?



This monster’s speeches,

always heavy speeches,

his viciously roundabout,

imponderable speeches,

gave me a grim pause.



I thought of master Woe

and glory-adorned Joy,

the showers of my life

that brought me to cry

or laugh or dance, sing.



All of life’s hard edges,

its spikes and daggers;

with care I considered

the host of life’s dangers,

life’s once-only thrills.



I nodded to the demon,

I understand you now,

how these entry points

to eternity, the moments

you spoke of so eerily,



They are all the same,

crushed, whether we will

or not, by the circle.

I will not try to answer;

it would malign the moment



which, once or recurrent

...

is indifferently perfect.