by Peter Gallaher
Light passed by invisible to me
A trillion photons in the sky
Speeding through infinity.
A world moving wind of light passed by
Coming down from Sinai's height.
Sound of wings, too, I did not hear
Beyond the range of listening ear
On waves of time and gravity.
Small things now. Big things later.
Bear hugs, navel rings, street theater,
Jewels beyond imagining,
Pictures from the beginning,
The roots of trees just sitting
Rotting in the open air,
Piled awaiting pulverizing
And spreading on the ground
Before the highway's widened
So we can take the short way home.
Tree roots lifted in the air
Dirty hands in dirty prayer.
I see Queen Isabel and Mayor Streeter
The chief municipal musician,
Dancing in the park,
Smiling Jack the red nosed politician
Laughing in the back,
Photonic wind bright upon his teeth,
Stretching far beyond his reach
For some fantasy of quality and peace
While the choir sings civic harmonies.
In the theaters empty eyes,
Captives in a concrete paradise,
Stare beneath the starlet skies
At photons cleverly arranged in kisses.
On the concourse just outside
Downtown Jeffrey, the politicians'
Friend and favorite judge,
Smiles from the bench at his decisions.
He does not budge
>From cleverly arrived at positions
About the proper clothes to wear
To Queen Isabel's affair.
Isabel the Saintly Queen
Whose tiny feet were never seen
Sat upon her throne and said,
“Sail west, my child, into the Dead
And change the living, the yet to be,
Who still exist eternally.”
He bowed and bowing saw her toes
Pinkly winking from her clothes
And took that as a sign from God
About the sanctity of his job.
All the others had not yet been
So could not comment on that scene;
Could not yet realize
What had not been before their eyes
But would be soon coming round the rising moon
Fleet photons capturing and real
The wonder of discovery and zeal.
On Zion sinners are in dread.
There trembling grips the impious.
No such trembling among the dead below
Scoffing at those others' silliness.
Among uprooted trees and navel rings.
They have learned to live with consuming fire
They accommodate the everlasting flame
As long as it is dark.
Avoiding the grasp of the grave
They live and never see death.
Invisible the messages photons bring
Unheard the sound of hovering wings.
