Sky Ridge

Can a subdivision speak?
Well—as a skeleton speaks

To the investigator,
As an abandoned ant mound

Or prehistoric platform—
Now just postholes in the ground

Exposed by a recent storm—
No, that’s wrong. The skeleton

Of this subdivision is
Living, not a danse macabre,

Although it is macabre.
Its loveliest quality

Is not a lively bustle,
Nor a fossilization,

A melancholy romance
In a deserted ruin.

It’s still, still not deserted,
Nor ever entirely still.

In ordinary weather,
Ordinary holidays,

The most ordinary years,
It hums, most inhabitants

Most often mostly inside.
What is it trying to say,

Those days or days like today,
When the sign on the highway

Used for warning the latest
Roadwork and lane-closure dates

Only blinks, “STAY HOME—STAY SAFE”?
Not, exactly, Stay Away.

Something about privacy,
Perhaps, or security.

But no, it’s also not that.
Can a subdivision speak

Just sitting there, quietly,
Splattered across the landscape

Like the droppings of a herd
Of deities who’ve moved on?

Scarabaeus satyrus
Use galactic light to steer

Their way to their chambers, but
Are not symbols to themselves.

Something will emerge from this,
Something new carrying on.