View From a Flag I'm on the roof, looking down. Although the night is old, I've never been more awake To visions and sounds. A furnace kicks against the wall. Beneath the floor, children whisper. They are growing Ponderously fat with sleep. A thread of milky light will split Their mother's abdomen, a spark will wink, and the moving Moment fan the rebel-cackle of the flames. I do no more Than just repeat, I remind myself that images are images Of images whose fountain source is dry as history's Old ink. Soon this night will open, newly chaste. I'll unfold and watch the children scatter from the blaze Through bars of angry light, and across the cold Obscurely starlit fields.
View from a Flag.
Hutchinson, Chris
View From a Flag I'm on the roof, looking down. Although the night is old, I've never been more awake To visions and sounds. A furnace kicks against the wall. Beneath the floor, children whisper. They are growing Ponderously fat with sleep. A thread of milky light will split Their mother's abdomen, a spark will wink, and the moving Moment fan the rebel-cackle of the flames. I do no more Than just repeat, I remind myself that images are images Of images whose fountain source is dry as history's Old ink. Soon this night will open, newly chaste. I'll unfold and watch the children scatter from the blaze Through bars of angry light, and across the cold Obscurely starlit fields.