Democritus would have understood
That most of what is said
Words squandered, pebbles
Skittering over the edge
Of a jagged cliff.
They skip and plummet into the void
Chasing the edge of an
Our lives are not agonizingly static, stationary bike
Tires ceaselessly, maddeningly, spinning
You and I are parallel lines revolving at the malleable fringe of a strange attractor,
Sometimes close and at times distant, gazing upward
At the galaxy that we will someday reach.
Man and woman, atoms and empty spaces, held rigidly apart
By electrostatic repulsion, fleshy containers,
Struggling in mud.
We should have been content in the silty water,
But gills have transformed
Gasping for fresh air we have begun our ascent.
Tiktaalik crawling upward with no desire
To return to the status quo.
It is in the silent breaths between the lines we craft,
The mysterious space where words fail,
That our deepest truths are told,
Preformed syllables of love
That gestate in the fallow regions
Of the heart.
© M. G. Iannucci 2016