Restoration

I am transferring some of my poems from Ron Hardy's Blog — Gaia Community
to this new site.

Restoration

We are not alive yet. We skitter along the top of a bridge arch and peer over the cornice. It is a distance we cannot judge. There is no reference point. But eventually a native sense rises, telling us to go, to let go, to do. The one who sustains us is nearby.The thing about falling is that eventually there is a constant- terminal velocity. All things become redundant until we slow or accelerate.The wing is just attention. The beak is only focus. And the eye has such clarity that it sees the future coming. The raw data always indicates somewhere something is not possible. This will pass for hope. This will save itself. This will restore the colors as the spell is broken. This will disguise itself as a solution in a world where the answers evade. At that moment of terminal velocity we can still find a way to tuck a little tighter, breaking the given.

07/28/2009