travu2
The Fly
A nocturnal construction colony sometimes
propagates along ancient pathways
worn through the air above the sleeping
neighborhoods, their frail museum
of hidden geometry and pale light.
In a slow flurry of gossamer
lace and exploratory scaffolding,
their moonlit froth meanders
with a weightless momentum,
and quickly dissipates.
Like dead cherubs falling
through the black depths of a lagoon,
a few little astronauts are floating
out into the quiet streets.
Between gray lawns, misty
with dew, they pass,
one by one,
through veils of electric light.
Creamy cement driveways,
covered boats and storm drains;
structure passing on either side
does not reflect purpose.
They move among ephemeral
shapes reflecting moonlight.
Nothing is moving, nothing listening,
as they slow to a stop.
Like a white spider sliding
along a silken thread, an astronaut
approaches her bedroom window
and enters an enclosed harbor
smothered with shadows, abandoned
vessels sprawling in the water; nothing
was there to hold them together.
Somewhere in that landscape
of dimming, hazy blue
was a trail of tiny footprints
now covered by the dunes.
They sense her, lonely in the darkness,
across the street from a low-lit cactus.
Near the warm surface of a wall,
they gather to watch the moon
bleaching out her likeness.
They see her on the horizon
in a barely visible glow:
Two mountains lay in the distance
like great mute whales
frozen in place, each forever
trying to reach the other
in the cold anonymity of night.
As they rise up into
the patient currents, to fade
out again, they see her
in the motion of a moth
suspended high in the air,
as her delicate reflection
shimmers across the ocean.
In a moonlit mountain meadow,
a few timid waves are slowly
dissolving every part of me.
My heart struggles beside me,
but she never saw it inside me.
--------------------
"Been waiting for the night to fall.
I knew that it would save us all.
Now everything's dark,
keeps us from the stark
reality."
Depeche Mode
propagates along ancient pathways
worn through the air above the sleeping
neighborhoods, their frail museum
of hidden geometry and pale light.
In a slow flurry of gossamer
lace and exploratory scaffolding,
their moonlit froth meanders
with a weightless momentum,
and quickly dissipates.
Like dead cherubs falling
through the black depths of a lagoon,
a few little astronauts are floating
out into the quiet streets.
Between gray lawns, misty
with dew, they pass,
one by one,
through veils of electric light.
Creamy cement driveways,
covered boats and storm drains;
structure passing on either side
does not reflect purpose.
They move among ephemeral
shapes reflecting moonlight.
Nothing is moving, nothing listening,
as they slow to a stop.
Like a white spider sliding
along a silken thread, an astronaut
approaches her bedroom window
and enters an enclosed harbor
smothered with shadows, abandoned
vessels sprawling in the water; nothing
was there to hold them together.
Somewhere in that landscape
of dimming, hazy blue
was a trail of tiny footprints
now covered by the dunes.
They sense her, lonely in the darkness,
across the street from a low-lit cactus.
Near the warm surface of a wall,
they gather to watch the moon
bleaching out her likeness.
They see her on the horizon
in a barely visible glow:
Two mountains lay in the distance
like great mute whales
frozen in place, each forever
trying to reach the other
in the cold anonymity of night.
As they rise up into
the patient currents, to fade
out again, they see her
in the motion of a moth
suspended high in the air,
as her delicate reflection
shimmers across the ocean.
In a moonlit mountain meadow,
a few timid waves are slowly
dissolving every part of me.
My heart struggles beside me,
but she never saw it inside me.
--------------------
"Been waiting for the night to fall.
I knew that it would save us all.
Now everything's dark,
keeps us from the stark
reality."
Depeche Mode