Sunday, September 1, 2013

New eyes for the unseen town

If this was all there is—all there is—just 
the 2-D screens and flipping pages, the dotted 

lines and shredded tire treads thrown to the sides—the
looping jingle that wakes you over and over, the clouds and their 

cloned shapes—if this is all there is—all you are—the punch 
in punch out and the same food on the table—oh that is a lie, betrayed by

open earth, open sky—by down-rushing water at the end of the stepped
trail, by the million echoing surfaces of chipped-away cave, the

dynamite-cleft tunnels and glide of pure music through its grooved
lines—this is just a shadow, a movement, a circumference only.

The outline of glory. Failure as the first cut of a glory-worn dress that
would only overwhelm the girl were she to fit in it now.

Oh gasping town with your raggedy trailers and shut-down 
restaurant doors, your trees are your glory. You outshine

the next worn-eyed town over in its gray lines
blank spaces and poor, false trees.

May you see your own beauty—when you lay
down your life to save the place you first kissed in,

where you played games with mystery when you were young—
every dawn she’s coming alive over your sleeping body whether you

notice or not. In the valley the light uncovers the textures of your heart,
your many-layered riches. So what that your trucks are always dying,

always at risk when night masks the road as they run their miles down
your spine. What matters is travel, and see, your blood pumps

through you unhindered, even as it still did
splattered across the mountains during your last war.

You’ve never quit being worthy of love,
and even now, the wildest of winds pursues you

as if you were the only one 
in the entire world.