Too Many, Too Few

“There’s another way to phrase that and that is that the absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence. It is basically saying the same thing in a different way.”—Donald Rumsfeld

There are too many finches, too few
                Darwins. Too many
                                baroque Christs glooming
        from their gilt frames, too few clouds
                gawking rails of light.

        The wren doesn’t stay behind
                        to count each flake
                of snow filling
        her abandoned nest, which isn’t
                        to say she doesn’t
                consider it
        during the taut respites between
                        wing-beats.

I look out and I see too many
                people and too few, which is a different
        way of saying
                the same thing, which is a way
        of saying I’m tired
of saying the same thing, which is a way
                of saying I find no evidence
        of change, which is a way
of saying that even
                decline can be a kind of steadiness

The archipelago’s isles
                bunch up
        in the distance,
but this is a trick
                of perspective:
        the straits between
are miles across,

                and whatever
        land we settle on
is always windswept
                and wide.

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Thinking Makes It So

“Well, um, you know, something’s neither good nor bad but thinking makes it so, I suppose, as Shakespeare said.”—Donald Rumsfeld

Less matter with more art, I say. Don’t
retell the story of your brother and his
seven dogs minus one. How did it go?
The fussy clerk from the county office
called to inform your brother of his
need for a kennel license, so numerous
were the hounds roaming his property.

        You first told me this story while we were looking down
                into a volcanic crater
        filled with a lake so blue the sky was ashamed of itself.

What, your brother asked, is the limit?
Seven, said the clerk, and your brother
called over his favorite hound, pulled
out his pistol, and shot the dog between
the eyes. He did this while the poor
clerk was still hanging on the line.
There, he said, now I’ve got six.

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“The Decay of ancient knowledge”

“considering that by such trade and entercourse, all things heretofore unkowne, might have come to light.”—Pliny the Elder

To cure a child of rickets, split a living ash tree down its length and pass
the child through
        (naked, headfirst, three times).
Seal the two halves of the tree back up
and bind them with loam and black
thread. If the tree heals, so will the child.
        (The child must also be washed
        for three mornings in the dew
                        of the chosen tree.)

Two men
         (no, women)
             must pass the child through.
The first must say, “The Lord receives,”
and the second say, “The Lord gives.”

This is how you ensure a happy marriage:
This is how you keep the engine running:

A jackdaw or swallow that flies down
the chimney must be
                        killed. If it is allowed
to leave the house by a window or door,
a member of the family will

This is how, when your mother tells
you she’s going in for biopsy, to make
the growth benign:

Burn a fire and in the morning examine
the ashes for footprints, the image of a ring,
the likeness of a car, a bed, a horse, a

This is how you keep from thinking of
the one thought you’re thinking:

Say your own name backwards three
(no four) times and turn around (keep
your eyes shut).

The unborn child must be called pot lid
or tea kettle until you hear its voice.

Carry a live bat around the house three
times, then nail it upside down outside
the window. This will ensure

If your mother calls you at 6 A.M. while
she eats her breakfast (do not eat after
7), this is how you can calm your voice:

This is how you say Good luck and mean

An egg laid on Sunday can be placed
on the roof to ward off fire and lightning.

If you put a stillborn child in an open
grave, the man who is buried there will
have a ticket straight to heaven.

Never sleep with your feet toward the door.

Do not sneeze while making a bed.

Step on a beetle, and it will rain. Bury it
alive in the earth for good weather. Put it
in your mouth and your loved ones will

When you see a dead bird lying in the road
you must spit on it.

If a rooster crows in the night, you must
go and feel his feet.

When a woman is in labor, all the locks
in the house must be undone, windows
and doors must be left ajar. This will
not prevent death but will quicken
the escape of the spirit if

If the ash tree remedy fails, bring the child
to a third
         (no, a seventh)
                        generation blacksmith.
The child must first be bathed
in the water trough, then laid on the anvil.
Each of the smith’s tool’s must be passed
over the body, and each time one must
inquire what the tool is used for (no one
must answer). Then the blacksmith must
raise his hammer and bring it down (gently)
three times (four) on the child’s body.
                        If a fee is given
or even asked for, the cure will not

If the phone rings, this is how you answer:
This is how you say, How did it go?

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From We Don’t Know We Don’t Know. © 2010 by Nick Lantz. All rights reserved.