tagNon-Erotic PoetryContinental Shift

Continental Shift

byNigel Debonnaire©

The buildings are still there,
shrouded in unearthly light
but stand out sharp and clear
as they did in the bright summer mornings
of long ago: my youth.

I can still taste the fresh air
that swirled down the streets
where I used to play,
where rarely a car would creep along
to disturb our games.

A place I’m glad I left,
a place I could not stay,
but full of fond memory.

Life is different now,
moving through the waters
of the drowned land:
sailing in and out of windows,
skittering down the sidewalks,
already surrendering to silt.
Breathing the new liquid atmosphere
and hanging decorations
of weeds and algae.
Feeding on each other,
breaking the stillness
with sharp, suddenly, flicks of violence
ending in blood.

Clouds build on the horizon,
and I must take the glass bottomed boat
back to port.

Time to move again, move on:
the waters creep higher
and my present home will surrender soon
the fate of all my yesterday homes.

The path I’ll take is one I know,
running through over ridges
to find another hamlet
full of trees and hills and lakes.

Sorting through my past:
recycling, discarding, preserving,
preparing for the move,
for the continental shift
to a new center of the universe.

Looking around,
I already miss the still lawns, lakes and elegant trees
that will submit to the coming flood;
another world lost forever
or at least until the world changes again
to raise them up.

My heart wants to go
before my work is done,
before my new home is ready,
and escape this purgatory time
of soon but not yet.

The waters rise,
and I wonder:
is there a height to live on
that will stay undrowned,
high enough
to remain indefinitely?

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