The Sacred Number

this is poetry too,
the grey-haired air whispers,
peering down
through golden rims
on its way to the twin silos
of regular and decaf.

this is poetry too,
words echo in my mind
as i return to Sylvia Plath
and he returns to his chair,
leans forward with everyone else
into PowerPoint slides spilling from
an immaculate screen.

this is poetry too,
words dissolve into the engaged conference room
as i try to comprehend the lives consumed

calculating the seven digits
of the sacred number:

the number of the sun swallowing the moon,
the number of eyes closing,
the number of atrocities before we find our end.