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Miles Waggener – Ⅱ

Horses Seen from the Plane 






Festooned with melting ice,

trestles buoy themselves in wisps across the river.


The rusting frame, a bridge,

a derelict carnival ride


sinks into the sticks.  More weather is coming,

and the way home, another flight


of the alone to the alone, telescopes out

into a block of slick Tarmac,


where piled like euthanized pandas in an open cart,

our bags await their handlers.


Through the metallic winks

of the climb-out, the once manifold


shards, the cracked surfaces

are, at a glimpse, whole again


in the sinew and sheen

of distant animals the wind is braiding


together at full gate, the farthest

reach of lightning, irretrievable and


funneling up the draw

through a fissure


of day breach

you are just beginning to see.





Note:  “life is the flight of the alone to alone”–Plotinus