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
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.