Perhaps some device occupies an empty cube of space

Buried alone near trees, near tree roots

It has so much potential energy

 

The earth is glaciated clay

Common in Northern Ohio

From ancient Lake Maumee

Generations of silt and the persistent grinding

Pestle of two miles of ice and thousands of years

 

The river used to flow South to a place

But now it won’t take you there

Too much geography has changed

 

My geology teacher slowly shook his head,

Referring to the above line

“So much potential”, he said.

 

I would have probing tools

That could uncover the clues necessary

For a history of expansive progression of

Promise of brilliance, of capability, if only the tools

Had been found earlier, or complete

 

The earth ticks under our feet

Like code translating to “Here is a massive velocity”

Unheard, like subtle, faint noise of fossils

We only walk over, unrealized

 

Everything is ensconced

Some, brilliant or dull, are attractive

Because they might attain, in time, Majesty

 

It will or it won’t take one tick, or two

And a flash of hot light

Cavitating hard liquid air

 

And drawing

Attention

Away

From what we did otherwise, and always.

 

 

©2017 Donald W. Hayward