Under the Big Dipper, I lean back and stare at the dotted sky.
Its indigo vastness
Causing me to ponder:
Where do we go?
When we go away.
One large dot moves and travels in my direction
Takes on speed and sound…
(Red to port; green to starboard)
Roars overhead, then disappears to the south,
(A different kind of leaving, a route…
Mapped and charted).
Senders say goodbye on one end
Wishing Bon Voyage
And
See you later;
Blotting handkerchiefs to eyes and
Missing those who’ve departed
While they’re still in sight.
In some far terminal,
Eyes strain to catch the approach
Of gleaming metal hurtling through the sky,
Wait with open arms for arrival of some loved one.
One cries tears of sadness,
The other tears of joy.
Farewells compete with greetings
And sparkles in the sky.
Where do we go?
When we go away.
I sit back and mark the dotted sky,
Shaky finger following constellations
(Real or imagined)
Arm flagging, drunk on stars.
Where do we go?
ReplyDeleteIndeed; indeed!
Should we know that
We'd be as the gods:
With knowledge, insight.
No need; no need!
For knowledge is power and
Man has too much as it is;
So not to pursue the question
At hand.
Not to pursue is the plan.
Where do we go?
'Tis not for us to know.
We are but mortal man
None but the gods know the plan.