The City, A Cave

The shadows bathed in improved intricacy,

cannot escape their elemental roots

Distractions, such as these,

flutter between leaves,

rising upon the husks of wind,

now just gusts of breeze.

Standing between me and a few evergreens

are multiples of parking garages with caravans of gasoline,

and hellish teens selling meth-amphetamines

and off-brand ketamine to local collegiate Business Department Deans.

Facing forward on the T,

unless facing sideways,

or standing,

shadows cloak themselves for a time,

until, unavoidably

commanding.

Nearly home,

realizations ebb and flow,

like the extinguished river

that will never know my home

or visit my doorstep,

to see how my kids have grown.

We must divert our own mediums and mainstays of mist,

our own streams of life,

never expecting the same from Earth’s watery veins or estuaries.

Make pilgrimage to new baptismal pools,

kneeling,

bending,

dipping ourselves

within it’s transparent confines.

Returning ourselves, before shadows.

our essence, before caves,

to a state, before cities,

A state of buoyancy,

blindness,

bliss.

Michael Carney