Poetry Porch: Poetry


by Ellen Davis

The building model looks perfect except
it isnít there. Itís made
of light bent and projected by a laser

into the ether. But each color,
each column and structure, appears solid,
a wavy blue road to the future,

the domed observatory changed
to a thing its makers would love
to have imagined. You can walk

up and down a stepladder to see
its designs move into the air
before you. You travel past the exhibits

like some astronaut stranded in an ocean
of light; a set of red glass globes
extends back and forth as you walk

past the frame. Hereís a collection
of geometric shapes in muted brown;
a cylinder, a pyramid, the figure of O;

they jut out and recede as the observer
does the opposite. Squares edged by the spectrum
leap from their frames.

One cadaverous man appears ready
to wield his pencil. A woman blows a kiss.
Toward the end stands a rainforest

made of sounds of the creatures
animating cut-out designs of the leaves.
You start to see that everything

is hologram, refracted beam
of its own idea, that even you arenít
just bones and cells but a collection

of all the times you reflected light.

Copyright © 2008 by Ellen Davis.