The World You Gave Up, In
A Nutshell
The vascular map of
sheathed copper wire
coursing through a
hallelujah chorus
of twining branches
tapering off in
creamy sunlight, swaying
elevated
roadbed touching down here
and there, dipping
a toe in a thousand small
ponds, bearing
the innocent up in Holy
Rapture
to hover high above the
tribulations
of murderous cats and
indifferent steel
belted radial tires, a
wondrous
transit system. Have I mentioned the nuts?
The ones you’ll never bury
in a fever
of industry only to forget
their
exact location, an act of
faith sure
to hearten the gods who
abandoned you
and shanghaied me to usher
you on to
the next world, heaven perhaps,
the trees alive
with the likes of me eyeing
the skies for
goshawks, gazing down on
you, rapt, buried
treasure map anchored by a
good glass of wine.
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