THE LIGHTS OF FREEMONT

THE LIGHTS OF FREMONT

The play of lights on the dome is what gathers them to Fremont. Moving lights, in the dome of a pretend sky, not unlike the lights and tinkles of a slot machine.

 

It is what we have absently forgotten,

that we still abide in a strange gyroscope
of happenstance of giving and taking,
of coming and going, visions and revisions.

Or there simply is nothing to remember

from the darkness whence we came except
the pain of pushing or pulling out of a hole
into a yet more fearsome cave of struggle.

Is it dread then that is left in our satchels?

This journey has neither maps nor diviners
to guard against a free fall into an abyss
of irreducible gloom and cold desert silence.

Is this dome of blazing lights also a strum

for a quiet waking into a space of loneliness?
Or are these spaces our own echo chambers
where ripples of our calls are heard by others?

In the Beginning was Light, and we go back

again and again to understand the shape
of the spark that was left undefined in hearts
that recreate it in brief outbursts of that Light.

---Albert B. Casuga

04-08-14, Las Vegas, Nevada