Electric, but no more than this
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I watched a man, tall
stand before a woman, dead
in a corn field lying;
kneeling,
he unfolded her legs to reveal:
trembling, crying,
a bird without wings.
From bird came child,
from child came earth, and
earth swallowed woman,
and with her the light of day.
In the instant thereafter, I heard
distant
the clamor of men’s hammers,
against great beams of steel, echoes
of stone in an ancient belly.
Further adrift,
down by the house,
against the sun I looked up, black holes
your eyes and twelve strikes from the clock,
gone,
body warm on the floor,
warm not breathing.
The house was a shock,
the windows were tears,
and the town was a shudder,
dust bowl and flies,
we got in the car and drove,
we drove fast.
Car crash.
I remember the hard shoulder.
Barricades of steel, splayed
at the blue sky;
the hands of a man-made creation.
Car wheels spinning, but still
no noise.
Side by side,
with intermittent vision, viscous
the small pools,
red leather seats,
sharing the bliss, waiting
for the bell.
Electric,
but no more than this, this
journey was ours, hours
into the abyss, I turned
to look back,
and how far it seemed.
Copyright. Andrew Eglinton 2007.
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