junk post

Thoughts Concerning the Fountain in front of the Nebraska Union

Catapulted, kinetic force loaded, Drop
finds himself suddenly independent, an organism
distinct from the uncountable noun of his birth.

He shoots skyward, looks around, hopes someone
is watching, sure of his role in life: to go high, to go
higher, if possible, higher than any other energetic

drop, to refract particles of sun. He trades kinetic
energy for potential and climbs until,
transfer complete, for a moment,

just.
one.
moment .

he hangs motionless in the air. Perhaps
he wonders at the majestic view, the colonnades,
backpacks, and concrete—thinks the universe

conspired to create one sublime instant just for him.
Or maybe the universe was created for this
now? Perhaps he’s unsure of his role. Could I

have gone higher? Slowly curves the parabola,
Drop grabs what light he can manage. The ascent
dictated how he would fall: moment. one. just.

the descent felt in his molecules, ineffably wrong,
ominous, but necessary; molecules know the way,
they traveled this path as past drops, the way

back to uncountable. With a plunk and splash, Drop
will be forgotten, dissected, and replaced in the spray
by newer drops whom I will admire equally.

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Background: This is not a Wordsworth poem, but somewhere in my head it deserves the title, “Intimations of Immortality.” Watching the mathematical chaos of a fountain can be mesmerizing and numinous. When I dig at those feelings, I find religious thoughts of transience and the beauty thereof. I hope this poem makes the instant of life something beautiful though it cannot quite replicate the beauty of the instant of refraction. It was written while reading Gaspar and thematic comparisons to him are in order though stylistically it is a very different creature.