Somehow
deep in the middle of the explanation
I sensed a frightening abyss
If I stepped in that direction
my guts would come up in my throat
I would fall, circling more rapidly with every repetition
There would be no end but rather we would end
without an ending in endless contemplation of the horror of a job not
well done,
our sensibilities torn by the clawlike stripes marching crossgrain
to the planks
Surely, I thought
there is a direction to be taken,
a move that could be made, an attitudinal inversion to restore the
feeling of a balance that in fact had not ceased to be there
Surely, I thought,
somewhere in this dark there is a dime to get off
surely a possibility of a salvational goal to be striven towards lowly
and slowly in the full slowness of the normal passage of time
It could be felt and concepted
but it could not be seen, spoken,
the hope I mean, but not discussed, awaited, for surely it would arrive,
smooth, regular, ordinary, sealed, the splinters removed, the rough edges
smoothed, the sun reflecting from the perfect flowing grain, the heat warming
the clenched soul, the light inducing the potted plants to think about
blooming, attracting the attractables, settling the settleables, elevating
the despondent, linearly liberating the rut-stuck, regularly and ordinarily
providing the elevation some need or think they need, or worse yet, think
they somehow deserve, the deserving deservers, those deserving deservers,
not different from those others, shivering behind that corner over there
wait
a few million seconds
a few million years
it will be all right