I watch another miner escape the trapping depths
and I wonder if the world changed while he was gone.
Also, if its conceivable that the very act of his pit-fallen confinement
caused the stratum of our new, yet uneasy millennium, to shift and move.
While the spotlighted, blinding smiles obscured,
crowded our shared focal length,
did I also yearn to sense some of that light emerge,
leak out and accompany him,
did I hear his musty air escape too,
liberated just now by the bore, from under those crackling fault-lines?
Leave it to be unknown how deep it really got,
how long we really were gone to ground,
measured up, transmitted, skin-deep? How hard do we want him back?
Can we talk him in to wanting to stay below,
or will we persuade him to travel space?
And yet, prismatic, in another distorted and curved corner of the world,
a competing athlete throws herself naked, arched, from a tower,
leaving her ledge of golden promise, to plunge in perfected seconds
to her breathless pledge, breaking through all our very surfaces,
to her watery demise,
Got caught in a snappy iris instant. Rushed, then frozen, she stays
in time and light and backlit screen, unable to emerge again, ever.
From there, space freezes over, no hurry here,
her reach for signaling stars stays distant,
embedded in stale-aired and stillborn, squishy news.
Her audacious act did not change the world
from what it looked like yesterday when you were still gone.
That grain of time sticks, keeps her hanging suspended,
without gravity, viscous from her wet hands,
her effervescent fingertips twitch.
What’s more: see the bottom of what assumes to be a dried out well?
You can’t, it stays content and concealed in warm darkness,
light having nothing to do with whatever would want to go down
to dwell and delight us there,
Sundrenched grasses waft about at its unmarked rim, knowing better,
guarding oblivious bliss,
dripping with memory of resounding, revisiting waves breaking,
breaking on to shores of peace. Pounding.
Pounding. Heaving. Pounding.
Breathing a mouthful more of that soft-spoken adoration.
Then you try. Look to the top of that giant pillar
-that firm and whitewashed column,
carrying whatever profound it hides,
out of sighs and sights at its high slippery crown. We can’t.
It steals itself into unobtainable perspective,
alone together, thrusting towards stars of promise.