When the noise is too much.

I want to work a little

to swim out

past the pea-soup fog

to get clear.

I want to look over my shoulder

and see definitively

the smog

left.

behind.

I want to head upstream

past the sad remains

of yesterday’s convenience

of accidental casualties

of tomorrow’s nightmare.

Enough.

There are still springs

cold as crystal

pure as light.

There is still beauty

fragile as fontanel

above

beyond

distant

where “ossification is incomplete”

where space exists

between thought and implacable fury

imagination and resignation.

space

Up, uphill

up ancient mountains

up forested flanks

beyond human intervention

beyond urban sprawl

past light pollution

and city shrieks

and bombast.

Uphill, upstream

where snowmelt is still clear

where streambanks are unspoiled

where shy mammals venture out

cubs and kits

vulnerable

unafraid.

Up, past treeline

past tundra

past the tiny, risky, alpine blooms.

Past tropo and meso and strato

right off the blue sphere

space

I want to look back

over my shoulder

all the angry babble fading away

that tower of Babel just a speck

a tiny blemish on that blue green jewel

that bright jewel

just a sparkle

on the vast

quiet

sacred

space