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