MID-FLIGHT
MID-FLIGHT
We rush, a black throng,
Straight upon darkness:
Motes and missions scattered
By the arc’s rays.
Over the bridge fluttering,
It is theater-time,
No one heeds.
Lost amid greyness
We will sleep all night;
And in the morning
Coming forth, we will shake wet wings
Over the settled dust of to-day.
The sky reflects its open expanse to make us larger
The city hurls its cobbled streets after us,
To drive us faster.
Ascertain the darkness
Before endless processions
Of lamps
Push us back.
A clock with quivering hands
Leaps to the trajectory-angle of our departure.
We leave behind pale traces of achievement:
Fires that we kindled but were too tired to put out,
Broad gold fans brushing softly over dark walls,
Stifled uproar of night.
We are already cast forth:
The signal of our departure
Jerks down before we have learned to where we are to go.
— Zumwalt (2011)
zumpoems 