Finding My Line

[googlemaps http://maps.google.com/maps?gl=us&ie=UTF8&ll=37.937352,-79.42115&spn=0.08218,0.163422&t=h&z=13&output=embed&w=425&h=350]–From Concourse As to EsAnd from moving sidewalksTo gray carpeted walkwaysTo clickclickclick rolling suitcasesOver tiled routesThrough security andThrough revolving doors,I have been finding my line,And I have been walking a long way throughOne inexhaustible place, a discipline of malaise,-Full of exhaustible people dressedLike people who have forgotten where they used to live:-One more drinkers, cell phone talkers, Economist readers,Obnoxious laughers, child chasers, job seekersLine breakers, jet-lagged dozers, wheelchair riders,Shrill complainers, cancellation losers, over-sharers-Wearing pinstripe suitjackets with blue jeans,Or donning deep blue business suits, skirts,And neon colored running shoes.-(Here’s a question and a fear:What if,Instead of a simple traveler’sLament about airports and hotels,Everything does become one place?)—————————————-I put the crystal, six sided and aboutAn inch and a half long, in my mouth—It still had some clay on it,-And I swished it around until it was clean.The iron tasted like blood.I pulled it out, and then I spit out my orange saliva–More than once.-It was after supper and without telling anyoneWhere we were going, we had-Walked over toward the barn,Through the granary withThe 15 cent Coke machineAnd shovels and sawdust,Passed the tennis courtsAnd the vegetable garden.- At the barn after closing the gate,We had turned up to the west, now walking just aboveNow just below slick, muddy cow paths.-The heat had fallen out of the dayAnd the light had become more humaneAs it saw us from a more and moreAcute angle, creating the illusion thatThe glow came from the earthRather than reflected off of it.-It was the kind of light that helps you find crystalsOnce in a while embedded in the clayAnd exposed by afternoon gulley washers.But the light advantage was short-lived asThe shadows lengthened to the pointWhere their edges became soft.-There is no confusing airports(Atlanta-Hartsfield, San Francisco, Chicago-Midway,Seattle, New Orleans just since January)and the Rockbridge County pasture I remember:-There the world got tired with me,And we put each other to bedTo Taps and toBullfrog and cricket choruses.-The Virginia Mountains long agoGot tired of being tall and jagged,So their identities secured, they reclined,Rounded, turned green, andNow are in the business ofSurrendering their mineral wares(Garnets, schist, quartz)To streams, mostly slow enough now to wander more than fall-Toward the Maury,Then to the James,To the Chesapeake,And on to the sea.-Now with clay layered on our shoes and our socksAnd standing awkwardly against the steep sidesOf the eroded spot on the hillside,I had wondered what was just beyond my viewVacillating between looking at theSame spot patiently and scanningChaotically in search of a flat shiny surfaceBefore the light lost us completely.-Just before our time ran out,I had come upon it,A straight line occurring in nature.I dug with all day dirty fingersUntil it released from the side,And I had put it in my mouth to wash it.-On the way backI saw more things and more clearly–a salt lick, invasive multi-floral rose,Fresh ground mud from cows crossing the streamA broken step on the stile,The line of the barn roof,The freshly cut graveyard hill,The darkening cliffs of Jump Mountain–Because it was in my pocket.-I could not see until I held it.I could not hold it until I saw it.-Copyright 2012