How lightly is the mortal set aside, laughing.
How little is made of it to the anxious inquiry:
"It was a tree branch in the dark," I say,
"but I protected my eye with my face."
Hence this little T-shaped rent, see, just under
my right eye, already sealed and healing.

I do not speak of how I was running full out
in the dark, because I thought I knew my way.
I do not describe the cedar twig, a good finger's
width, snapped off and worn by time as smooth
as a lance, as the shaft of an arrow.
I do not mention the moment of impact,

the bright white flash I saw in the lightless dusk.
The fall to my knees as my hand fluttered up,
a protective impulse come far too late; how
when it came back down it had inexplicably
acquired a contact lens, and a thick drizzle
of blood.  I do not try to evoke for them that

instant, when I thought the worst had happened.
I do not recount that it will not be until an hour
later, already with friends and making light of my
misfortune, that my imagination will conjure up
even worse than that worst.  Of how easily
that spike might have been hanging there for years

waiting for me to come along and impale myself
on it, to run at it and drive it deep into my brain.

Instead, every time I'm asked, I tell the same little
joke. And every time tragedy unravels, as the
concerned countenance of each friend transforms
suddenly into laughter, like magic.

To an Archaeologist 400 Years In the Future
Exploring My House, Which Was Perfectly
Preserved in Volcanic Ash

Please, come in. With your small hammer
and soft brush, come in. You will find
everything in order, more or less,
though I wish I’d had more time to clean.
As you chip your way carefully into the kitchen

you’ll find the glasses in the cabinet above the sink.
Please help yourself, though I have no idea
what you might prefer to drink.
Considering the circumstances
I don’t recommend opening the fridge.

I’m trying to reassure myself that you won’t mind
all the papers and books strewn about
on the coffee table, the ottoman,
pretty much everywhere really, now I think of it.
If you don’t get stuck on figuring out

some pattern to why they are arranged this way
I’m sure they will assist your research
into how we lived, and what
was front-page news four hundred years
and one week ago.

There is more enjoyable reading in the bedroom,
and personal documents, you’ll be interested to know,
are in the locked filing cabinet in the study.
And under the TV is a real artifact, an old
Atari game system which even has a game

where you can play a tiny pixilated
archaeologist who dashes through Egyptian tombs
nabbing ancient treasures, until he succumbs
to the attacks of sacred snakes, lions, and bats.
Don’t worry, there’s nothing so dangerous in here

unless I have left my shoes out again
for you to trip over.
And somewhere around the house—
cross-legged on the couch, lying on the bed, perhaps
hunched over a bowl of cereal at the breakfast table—

will be my absence, a me-shaped hole
in the ashy rock.
I am sorry I missed you; I’m sure
you’re a fascinating person to talk to, and after all
we both have so many questions.