I find no comfort in half-light or half-truths,
cities where false neon glows pass
for daytime neverending,
unremembered history, ancient drumming
of rain on clay tiles and cobbled stones,
retaining naught but a fraction
of huddled humanity, while farmers awakened
in starlight to the grassy breath
of nickering companions, tang
of oiled leather as plow met harness
and lungs expelled vaporous clouds
into golden dawn mating green
and verdant horizons corrugated
by row upon row of emerald harvest;

And I wonder at drought in places
where rivers once coursed wild
and forgotten, nature’s byways bisecting
thick scalps of rushes giving way
to rooted groundswells where rhythms
once danced freely amidst conifers clustered
in open vistas, wedding of man to his hands
in the service of necessity, not artifice;

Even science was born in solitude
where questions and poetry awoke
in pin-drop stillness to sketch themselves
upon blank canvas minds, unsuspecting.

img_3238