CAMUS AT ORAN
He traveled widely to discover what
had long since troubled and informed his heart.
The stone lions before the town hall at Oran
were thought to leave their pedestals at night
and walk the square—as silent as the flight
of the soul from the body at death—stopping, on occasion,
beneath the tall dusty fig trees, to relieve
themselves, inanimate fountains that believe
anything is possible, a stone’s throw, volition.
The radiance of the world does not come easily.
It piles up like stone and falls just as readily.
In Oran, the pebble is worshipped without reservation.
All who have lost know love wears thin as passion.
Conviction, the soul is ruled by something thin.
—from Rattle #18, Winter 2002
Ed Orr: “In my own mind, I would be invisible to myself—to say nothing of others—if I didn’t write. Thoughts come, connect, and I must record, with conscience, or suffer.”