The End of the Line
April 7 2009


But the sun really does revolve about the earth.
Here, at the centre of the universe
on this perfect sphere
in the best of all possible worlds.
Where I watch it rise,
its slow majestic progress
reassuring.

I have ridden to the end of the line
— the subway car empty,
the light
a cold awakening.
A borough
of factories and terminals
I never knew existed,
and don’t quite fit —
like an alien
in my own home town.

The train, above ground
in sprawling marshalling yards
closing down.
Where the conductor
brusquely ushers me off
— in the middle of nowhere, stopped.

So I watch
the glorious dawn
the subservient sun.
A passenger
on a stationary planet,
at perfect rest.



We all know – and believe in – the Copernican universe: that the earth is a small planet circling a minor star in an insignificant galaxy somewhere on the edge of the universe. Nevertheless, we can’t help but feel that we are still at the centre of existence: our senses tell us this; our ego reinforces it. Watch the heavens, and it’s just “common sense”. So I think this poem is about this abiding tension: pulled one way by humility and reason; pulled the other by the feeling that everything really does revolve around us.