(WIth apologies to the sacred hymn)
Late at night and you are outside.
Above the quarry, the moon is nearly full.
The light catches the power lines.
shimmering threads of luminescence.
There is not a sound. Not one.
No wind. No vehicles in sight.
Even the coyotes, denizens of the night,
You imagine you hear humming in the wires.
Electicity. Calls. Data, Connections.
Love in the night. Disappointment, tears and insomnia.
You are comfortable here in the silence.
No longer afraid of the silence, welcoming it
and its memories of silk, sin and resurrection;
the failures that did not kill you
despite their best efforts.
About this poem
Looking back used to be an exercise in self-recrimination. No longer. I can see it with a clarity that leaves me grateful for the humanity of my life. All of it.
The picture was taken from my front porch.