09-21-2022, 03:24 AM
If we dream of flying,
we know:
there is a ground below.
Tonight,
this dream feels different.
Tonight we fly
over terra infirma.
Once the ground is gone,
falling and flying are the same.
Our flight is not that of the goose,
but of the bat.
A quick change scatter dive.
Searching. The sunrise still hours away.
Our sight, so attuned to a prior existence,
no longer serves.
So we fly,
if only by echolocation,
through the descended dark.
we know:
there is a ground below.
Tonight,
this dream feels different.
Tonight we fly
over terra infirma.
Once the ground is gone,
falling and flying are the same.
Our flight is not that of the goose,
but of the bat.
A quick change scatter dive.
Searching. The sunrise still hours away.
Our sight, so attuned to a prior existence,
no longer serves.
So we fly,
if only by echolocation,
through the descended dark.
"What I want in poetry is a kind of abstract photography of the nerves, but what I like in photography is the poetry of literal pictures of the neighborhood." -John Koethe