Friday, August 9, 2019

Ground Zero August Ninth


Ground Zero August Ninth

by John Janaro

It was a single bright blazing 
luminous moment,
a brief foamy shiny speck of wave 
cresting on the giant ocean of time.

We did not mean to turn our heads, 
but the spark grabbed our gaze.
Our eyes fixed against the sky's edge.

And there was a flash on the horizon,
not like the sun's first hint of daily dawn, 
mild and sweet and seldom noticed.
No, there was a flash—full, furious,
splendid strange
a convergence of ten thousand suns.
The force fell on our skulls and stole our feet,
and we flew.

As eyes, ears, bodies spun through the air,
the clouds roared 
and white hot light swallowed the earth.

There was no time to dither or complain, 
to flee or to be afraid.
Everything disappeared; everything changed.

Everything, and yet...
there is a strange space of passage, still, 
inside this flashing moment.

For who calculates the division of an instant; 
who can fathom the depth of its duration?

Who knows how to measure the distance 
between the beginning of the end
and the end of the end?
What we know is that the moment has come, 
the time is at hand.

A moment of time burns us away
as fire rages in the wind.

~August 9, 2019