By Roy Doughty
Written 5/15/07

All day the edge has been drawing nearer and nearer,
And now, past 2 a.m., the speed of the shift quickens
And suddenly we are launched among images
That have been buried in the body’s interstices for eons.
These are the fragmentary ingots of the future
Flying so swiftly by us that their velocity
Prevents us from interpreting their forms.
We only see that they are bright, as bright as stars.
A voice, not ours, but like ours, only grander, announces:
“Phosphor’s gold!” and the heart, already drumming,
Drums the faster.  The muscles tense, and the mind,
Poised only a moment before to plunge into sleep,
Leaps out of its torpor, at last, in league with its Maker,
So that now, two voices, almost in unison, remind us
To be calm.  They say our particular star has a human face,
A destiny spawned by men and born of women,
And that these fragments streaking through the darkness
Are about to ripen the fruit of our destiny.
The body flickers, and we touch a flame
Within our bones, which never blinks in sleep,
Although it is the lantern of our dreams.
And now, our revolution slowly shows
The edge of fear to be a sphere of light,
As the sun in ourselves grows as large as the sun in the heavens.

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.