Intersection

A desert highway, hard-baked, heat-cracked, straight
And pure blue sky above - an utter state
Of knowledge, nothing hidden, all scoured bare
All speculation dead in hot dry air
As if the road from Eden ended there.

But double-dish-shaped, silvery, smoothly sealed
Anomalous at the heart of vision’s field
An enigmatic craft which gives no clue
Of why it’s hovering, slightly out of true
Of where it’s from or what it plans to do.

And on the road its shadow proves its presence
And gives a hint, perhaps, concerning essence
For maybe it’s the holy seed of doubt
The mystery that we need to have about
Lest white-hot knowing parch our senses out.

And now we see the highway disappears
In shadowy mountains, sheltering hopes and fears
Where travel may be crooked, ends unknown
And dusty rock eventually overgrown
With life from seeds from strange horizons blown.

Way back in Eden’s garden all was lush
But people gobbled knowledge in a rush
Until they’d eaten everything in sight.
So here’s a silver apple; take a bite
And find, where blazing day meets cloaking night
The Tree of Wonder, Garden of Delight.

Simon MacCulloch lives in London and is a regular contributor to Reach Poetry, The Dawntreader and Sarasvati.

Find more by Simon MacCulloch in the Author Index.