The Free Radical

One by one, the notes of a silent symphony
Fall from beginning to end
In choruses of voices, buffeted in awe,
To cover the same old ground again.

Only where power lines link the remnants–
City to city, and town to town–
Of our past comforts…
Are heard the groans of fading beasts brought down.

That old oppression crawls to horizons
While we all raise our heads,
Looking from places wherever we stood,
Countless times with that age-old dread.

But the ineffable shine of these newfound eyes
Lights memories in breast and beast;
Searching these shivers of novelty,
We turn around from West to East…

Something shifted; our load was lightened in countless subtle ways. I’m falling down on my old reliance on poetry because all the important stuff is found in the spaces between the words. Words make shapes and containers for readers to fill themselves…

Yesterday it was snowing and the very air was thick with silent knowing. But from a half-mile away, approaching the high voltage lines, we could clearly hear the crackle and buzz of our own worn-out minds.

A mule deer stood to greet us, brave and trusting, testing our newfound senses. I reached for pictures and missed, while Sitka leapt the fences. She gave chase in a brief moment of curiosity, but was quickly reabsorbed by the soothing luminosity… she understands: good dog; happy man.

Is that the same old rising sun, or a different one… altogether?
The past was always broken and scattered; it never really mattered… right?
I know I’ve tamed that struggling beast, turned to the east and weathered
That darkest chill, that in time would tell… was just us turning on the light.