Seek

We drive to the mountains -

who slum­ber silently beside our back yard

sub­ur­bia – to sit and watch

this sun­set wash over us.

 

 

We climb passed tree roots

worn smooth

by the tread of other trav­el­ers’ shoes.

kick­ing stones and dry dirt

cracked tree bones.

 

 

We stop

to sit atop the ancient encircled slopes

and stare

down at our elec­tric steel-street-light-staples

sym­bols stand­ing to signify

some­thing.

Per­haps, scraps of certainty

as a security

against the abstract outside.

 

 

The bright-burning body descends

 

 

over the moun­tains’ edge

these street lights catch

our eyes as they match

the Sunset’s orange scent.

And the Stars, who they imitate,

start to sing above us

until the choir is a chorus

enchant­ing the now cold

Autumn Earth into dusk.

 

 

All the time, with my eyes half on the

enamel beetle cars who crawl not so far

along lanes littered with lights,

and the other half, my eyes on the horizon,

 

 

and I sigh: The sky line is not a straight line.

 

 

Why, I say to my sister,

must we as a soci­ety sleep through this?

Why can’t we see the truth of it?

So beau­ti­ful that we can­not speak,

what else could this city seek?

 

 

The hills spill secrets when the cool wind

brings whis­pers with it,

they come,

crawl­ing down trees and

wrig­gling out of the ground

life is not a dia­lect­ical arrangement

between work, recre­ation, wife

between money, edu­ca­tion, life

it’s a seething,

spec­tacle that we’re born into engage­ment with.

 

 

How can we sleep through this?

Why can’t we see the truth of it?

So beau­ti­ful that we can­not speak,

what else could this city seek?

 

 

- Can­berra 2012

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