it was not so much as a stray brain wave
or a fleeting glance from your vagrant eyes
it was not pop-tarts in the toaster
it was definitely not bob dylan
it passed through me like the scent
of a loved one gone
the essence of a newspaper yellowing
in a neighbor’s driveway
or like a photon
it had no mass
it was like the chanting of the poppies
that put dorothy to sleep
but not the tin man
so strange how the equinox
can mark the start of something big
yet arrives without the frailest
acknowledgement of earth or sky
it comes postage due
on the news tonight the story
of two lovers with a suicide pact
they wrote a note together
before they jumped
i wondered if they heard it too
but it wasn’t so much a sound
as ethereal steam
through the spout of a cosmic teapot
or the silence of mist
in the air
or scattered sunlight through a blind
the inertia of a nickel
rolling down the lane
i sensed it
now as the earth rumbles
quietly on its axis
and somewhere einstein studies
the flow of rivers
i realize i might never know for sure
but the microwave flashes 2 a.m.
and with the vaguest scrap of a strange
knowledge or merely an odd perception
indefinable between such parted bookends
i turn and touch the light
Originally Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 2.
