On that very day,
in another Place,
it was more than
a later hour-
the heavy things
balancing on edges
would finally come down
creating a gentle breeze
over Here
and the nose would pick-up
and strong sense of Elsewhere,
only meaning
there was Poetry
being read in corners.
From the lips,
this music dips between
inkling and imagination
like a murmuration,
how things gather in ceremony
for harmony's sake.
And yet,
all the anonymity allowed
a tiny voice
to move through
this heavy Time,
passing on the thought of
levitation and how it was
never up to us
to do anything about the
thinning air out There.
Painting by Harriet Backer (1845-1932), c. 1883, in Public Domain.
