Conflagration
By Roy Dean Doughty
Written 8/1/08
When it happens, the illusory distance
Between the spectator and the projection
Collapses. These are no longer shrubs
Or trees of this or that species with ovate,
Orbicular, or cordate leaves,
But a lavishly bearded mass, a nexus
For all possibilities, the contemplation
Of which obliterates every mathematical
Inquiry. We had always, while trying
To navigate or even extend the irresponsible
Neutrality of looking on, of seeing without
Being seen, thought these green spectacles
Were safe, that we could gaze on them
With utter impunity, arranging their images
In the mind with the same freedom
By which we comb our hair. The murdering
Appetites of birds and insects, the hide-and-seek
Fairy tales of them and us, the experiment
In which the whole world could burn
Without scorching human skin has suddenly
Caught us in its rush, and we are in:
Our breath and the breeze weaving a shared
Biography from the onslaught of beauty
Slashing at our eyes and the uproar of silence
Pummeling our ears. The white placentas,
The red placentas, the slow back and forth
Swaying of filaments in nearly stagnant pools,
The whole inert volume of the three realms,
Drains from our body, and that familiar,
But insubstantial figure, in a layered fury
Of green intention and sapphire sparks of sky,
Spreads swiftly to the center of the sun
On pathways illumined by sinuous threads of fire.