Deep…deep beneath Dad’s land
and still cooling from beginnings,
tectonic plates expand…subduct…
slip slide with incremental tension,
slight tremors on a Richter scale…
yet not enough for red ants
in his woods beyond the barn
to swarm out from their mounds,
nor for his canary in the kitchen
to bash its feathered body
against the metal cage.
He knows those warnings
to move horses from the stable.
Lately, we’ve all noticed
he doesn’t pay much mind
to TV news and such…
only reads the local paper
and books from the living room…
like the Bible and Farmer’s Almanac
and plays here and there by Shakespeare.
He spends more time out on the porch,
and senses weather changes
even before the metal rooster
on the old barn arcs from east to west,
and notes balances tipping
like horizon sun flash…on the cusp
just before the set.
Some… search for authentic in mundane artifacts like Levi’s jeans glass Coca Cola bottles bright black of Amish quilts Warhol’s tomato soup cans they… scrape to the bone to satisfy a craving for authenticity much like Diogenes who…to make a point… held lit lanterns in Athens daylight looking for an honest man Bonnie Marshall
Crystal scattered sunlight
rainbow flashes on a wall,
or fresco visions on an Italian ceiling…
both are prisms of reflection…
both are worthy of distinction.
Some trick of intellect…
some clear bright line of thought
evaluates the difference…
comprehends the implication…
of star light, star bright Venus
to a single firefly’s glowing
against an evening lawn.