Even though the leaning, outreach and grab
at what happens next, has passed, or keeps grinding on,
does give us some shape,
the same tracks get carved:
beaten trails to battered places –
while around them, the land is shrinking.
Even as turbo-charged drives feed
yours-mine snarl-ups that wedge ‘right’ down our throats,
what resounds through the skull
is the chatter of teeth.
Life chewed into territory.
Is there some space to get found in?
Even as progress is marching ahead
with reasons that launch a world up in the clouds,
its feet turn to dust: trail of tears,
famine roads, diesel highways.
Gusts of gutless, heartless talk
blowing through, blowing through.
Behind it, the bogged-down conclusions:
your ghosts, my ghosts, lights flashing, gears whirring …
promises wave and deadlines stab;
hands shake and pump –
but the eyes don’t move.
It’s only break-downs that keep things sane.
This is the crack we came out through –
From under the skin, where location can't land.
Here the lost voices are gathering,
swirling, tumultuous ... clear.
Called by our darkness;
streaming through grief and love and praise.
Into the open country.
Where our lives fall around us like leaves.