Every Broken Thing

So It Goes
The Poetry Of Lance McKnight

So It Goes

            "I can't see the chamber," he moans -
            imagines lead slide smooth, clean
            and fast, up through roof, mushroom
            out as it finally explodes free from years
            of enduring prison. This time, on a cliff,

            solitary as his lighthouse overlooking
            the Cape. Always warning away
            in the presence of flame. Where
            would gravity be if we were the force?

            Would it still cling to walls, draw close to
            massive foreign objects or fall mercilessly
            to floor; quake silently, vibrating back 
            and forth from the frequency of scream?

            Tonight is real, sleep futile and in the dream
            he falls back, flails wild as if to grab
            purchase of land, dirt or earthen rock.
            So kindred, yet best not pondered.

                                                    for Sgt. Tom E