And the beaches, when they finally empty
of human congregation
Bridges whose curves will show
from one abutment to another,
with only air threading through
cantilevered spans
And on the railroad tracks stretched
like so much forgotten history from coast
to coast, the wraiths of those of us
who drove their spades into the earth
What spaces are there now where our bodies
can go to find sustainment—
with only clear wind, not bearing
virus taunts or spittle streaks
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
This poem perfectly bends my imagination of our now-expanding country toward richer spaces (and times).
“What spaces are there now” reminds me of Walter Benjamin: “Redemption preserves itself in a small crack in the continuum of catastrophe.”
Thank you for sharing that Walter Benjamin line, Peter. I needed to read something like that.