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Airliner
How
phenomenal,
although
less so than a horse.
With
what equanimity soars
and
descends to mere Earth,
although
with what uproar, what tempest.
How
ingeniously counterfeits the wind,
defies
caution and gravity,
although
liable as any sparrow.
What
technology,
although
not more cunning, more progressive
than
the artisans of the millennia,
ilk
of Daedalus, of Henry Ford.
Although
of its millions of component parts,
half
are rivets.
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Darkness,
Says Karbacher's Fantasy
On
a cot
in
a hostel at Worms,
city
of the Nibelungen,
in
a sleeping bag
behind
a butte
in
Apache country,
under
a mosquito net
on
a roof in Algiers,
listening
for unfinished conversations.
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Perhaps
Randomly, Obliquely
It
is a neighborhood of frugal, declining houses
on
frugal plots, with grudging street lights
and
competitive parking --- vintage urban sprawl,
strewn
with ironies and consequences,
with
rumors and truths
that
can save or ruin a life,
with
the unfinished business,
the
detritus of the deceased,
morning,
afternoon, evening waiting
for
the sum of their behaviors
who
perhaps randomly, obliquely perceive
that
they are the very agents of their ethos,
who,
on their footroutes,
bearing
privacies,
useful
fictions,
encounter
shades of their earlier selves,
a
dailiness that is merely so,
bearing
ethnicities,
frailties,
consolations,
observe
the enigmas in the faces,
the
implications between the words.
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