there you are again moving invisible
singular purpose whisper the dream
listen up record this now no map
but a chorus in flight there are some
who record the songs of birds at the brink
before they go
like that before they left they moved
away from their feet into cars over rivers
of steel then asphalt
rail spine a direct line but not quite into sky against it somehow
the pressure to bear the witness so often
asleep at the wheel all of us so far
from the valley
who becomes the river
start somewhere I meant to
listen I meant to
hear you as you left
the land I meant to record
at least your sands running out
take this we say of the body the opening
notes of each of us in turn going fast act fast
you have to give it all away
it was good sometimes
to live in a time when you
were finally removed from the pretense
that it was possible to acquire anything
the anti-aging lords of war had secured
the borders of every new frontier we
had only to be here living to learn
the ancient art of passing through walls
between times and passing each other
we would nod beneath breaths this
single phrase our code these times
we said these times as
though to remind us back to
all of them you had to feel all
of them at once or else risk forgetting
how to move
anywhere
or ever
Nice poem!
Thank you, David. : )