Photo by Gamaliel Masters
the heart, yet throbbing whole, perceives the break in sound the airport lies below, a toy, with compassed buildings pointing to a snow enveloped world "your captain speaking, circling in descent, Chicago temperature is three, time two fifty seven" a stewardess intones departure flights "please note your own" disembarked, disembodied the heart begins to hammer and to skip the hurrying crowds push past, propelled by pressing time, all glancing up with searching, anxious eyes at clocks, at flight boards, they flow in tight opposing streams to predetermined goals created sound is twice inflated, wordless Babylon. I stand the center post of earth. Some felt at this one time in far Peru, they raised a monument of stone to hitch their world securely to the Sun for none is there a lasting anchor stone. F19 points me west so soon the rush of night slides underneath the plane, the shining belts of cities dwindle the twinkling points of homes are few the soul, unready for transition shatters and is lost the heart in agony divides in two. |
