In Defense of Symbology

by jdavidcharles

Like the fear of a left blinker blinking yellow
out of a closer-than-objects-appear mirror
only to notice the placard idly on the back
reading “student driver” or the fear of sudden
realization that the black specks in the last
half of yesterday’s bagel are in fact not poppy seeds:
an affirmation of the certainty of context, of language,
and what it means to never ever see every side at once,
the same fear Galileo felt to think the spots in the rag
of night we call stars might tear to dowse us in light,
that the spheres might some day fall off their circuit
to leave the earth alone in its bed Sunday morning
with nothing but the rumpled, stained sheets of the
whole galactic affair, how much simpler then, easier, true,
to put us off to the side a little, the sun the bigger, the stars
hung up like the bigger sun just farther away, and us hapless,
haphazard making inches with our fingers of the vast
light-year spaces of void, not some objective spot
groping each end of the thing but just another nosy neighbor
peaking through the blinds watching Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So
going at it from Venus to Io, nova to shining nova

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