Leapdragon 2016 - Aron Hsiao Was Here

A Poem for Today  §

Directly below the sun
in an airplane bound for New York City
a pivotal moment can pass unnoticed
down the aisle,
the tepid ghost of things gone before
but not continued.

Arrested just at the moment of fruition,
the moment is interred like a dream
in the everyday objects
that surround sea change:
The fabric of the seats,
plastic cups, peanut bags,
criers of unwanted consumer goods,
imbued with lost potential and
staid happening,
the strange and modern carriers
of ancient rites:
lost promise,
mythical collapse,
aborted divine.

When the plane leaves the tarmac,
the pavement’s gasp
releases the essence of everything that could have been,
and yesterday returns, pregnant like sea air,
to the empty sky
to the paternity of Sol.

At length, when clouds form again,
into new lives the same rain will fall—
but the passengers on this particular plane
to New York City
will have long since leapt
over the horizon, into memory,
into the ancient chronicles of man’s search
for fairer Gods.