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Insubstantial Air
It was no accident we wandered here,
away from suburbs and from traffic din,
we needed to be somewhere free to clear
the dust and doldrums that remained within.
The sweet vivacity of birds in heath
land high above the sea as sky was wide,
while quails in coveys bumbled round our feet,
and sunlit straight escarpments on each side
proclaimed our isolation from the great
metropolis that seemed so out of place,
like some Atlantis that might disappear
without a noise, leaving not a trace.
Incredible the silence and the vast
expanse of air, like Prospero’s desmesne,
all insubstantial moving light that clasped
each image and refracted it again.
And we felt no surprise when downward came
transparent parachutes in graceful fall
from out the belly of an ancient plane,
illuminated beings held in thrall
by Prospero’s enchantment, captive ghosts
that drifted slowly down till hid from view
and the surrounding dreamscape of the coast
forgot the aeroplane and floating crew.
Below the cliffs the water came and went
in lacey patterns overlapping those
that came before, incessantly intent
on black and white kaleidoscopic shows.
Our need for earth’s connection is so strong
we sicken if deprived of wilderness,
and if we stew in cities for too long
we dwindle to adapt to our address.
Wizened homunculi we all forget
our ancestors emerged from out the wet;
and fire and ice will each suffice, says Frost.
We gained our cities but the rest is lost.
“Insubstantial Air” published in Del Sol Review