Self-Portrait While Meditating on the Nature of Existence
by David Hernandez
How amazing—the fact of this   bronze morning
lighting   up my seafoam kitchen, post-dream, post-cereal,
one milk drop   buried in my beard. Look how
chaos looks   inside the bowl, the water   churning
under the faucet, a frenzy   of bubbles, which pop
up and bob and pop. Does it not   seem the same to you,
being and been?   I hear my beloved   stir in the bedroom,
the bedsheet’s sigh. Listen from the hall   her sips of air,
if a nightmare breaks   the rhythm of her breathing.
Then I’m back to the bright   kitchen, an ecstatic sun
blasting   the front door’s frosted glass   tangerine.
All is flying and whirling   without beginning
or end, without language severing   that from this—
wren from heavens   from clouds from rain   from grass
blade   from the wayward ant   that bends by increments
the slender leaf   she quickly ascends like an acrobat.
Everything in the universe is one thing   and eternal—
so my cereal bowl, now   full with water in the sink,
is also   empty in the cupboard.Ìý   This from that—
be through with it.Ìý   Be done with how   an hourglass
splits present   to future and past.Ìý   When I copycat
wind or water,   the way they glide   onward, if my own
mind simulates their grace, time   extinguishes.
Now go   with all—with lava   crust and waterfall,
with cosmic   dust and snow   pea, with lily and sassafras,
with slow   and fast river-leaves   riding a current,
as riverbank trees   unpin their gold   hands, spinning
downward to join   leaves already rafting along
like a procession of fire, and mesmerizes   like fire itself
if you gaze   long enough to sense   the idea of yourself
disappear, reappear   as everything, as mindful
as any breeze, this new   you-less you, this perfect
emptiness   before the monolith your Self chiseled for you
reassembles back to myth.Ìý Â Â Even your skin knows it
cannot stay   and so rescinds itself through   apoptosis,
each second   cells rush off   to kill themselves,
billions a day   leap from the shelf   of flesh. We are
every leaf   fallen or still   green and sunlit,
still on the ground or drawn   forward by water.
.Ìý
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most recent collection of poems, Hello I Must Be Going, was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award. He’s also been awarded a National Endowment for the Arts Literature Fellowship in Poetry and two Pushcart Prizes.