Let’s say it came off from a mile away.
Maybe off the swell of a salty sea spray.
Or the sudden sound of an air show fighter come and gone.
You thought you heard it coming so you looked up and followed the feeling, tuning for specifics.
An antennae, like a radio, for details you could make sense of.
The invisible made visible. Some fleeting glimpse of an undeniable known now known.
One that you could run to and point to and finally say SEE! SEE!
Like an X on the ground, out loud to no one around. Through the throat in a shouting, compulsion of redness and spit. Don’t you see it?
And you look up and no one is around and if they were it were a crowd and it doesn’t matter now.
And you say: I knew it.
And you say: I knew this to be true.
And your heart beats faster than it has for some time.
And he says: And so you know now - this is enough.
It’s always been there and always will.
Now get back to work.
It was a train track somewhere you had never been.
A light at night somewhere you had never seen.
An idea making its way, ahead of itself, speeding through halls, running rafters, banging doors, fleeing out open windows and into the breeze - dispersed into a pollen.
A sudden bright blindness everywhere.
Don’t you see it?
It either splits the air from far off and speeds to find you or lobs high and wide like a gusto, stalled, too much, too soon, not enough momentum, too early peaking.
Well intentioned, but never believing in its own whip.
Sean Sullivan 2014