By Charles Sapp II
Eager to withstand the Earth’s rotation,
standing still as tree’s grow before my eyes
and like snakes vines whirl their way up my trunk.
The Earth bubbles at my feet as growth and decay
play tag under the supervision of time.
The hawks circle with generations soaring higher than the last.
I can no longer witness the height of their altitude.
My children’s voice amplified by billions
heard across the universe and reflected back.
The Sun is my daughter
she’s a star and her flares
move to the solar wind,
how beautiful is her turquoise glow.
Glowing
as a spotlight.
A beacon of beauty
visibly sought for.
My daughter—unborn.
Galaxies stand still
compared to the magnitude of the viewer;
like dust particles they fly apart
to settle in a remote part of space to be forgotten
until the light of their memory is captured by a distant observer.
Our information drifts silently
through clouds of debris
from the early universe,
the information we send is accumulated history,
the history I helped make and the history I watched dissipate.
March 3, 2008
Reflected Stillness
