The Arc We Speak Of

I suppose you, pardon, You,

Have seen the arc

The eternal arc

The arc of the earth

Coming in, as you were, from the boonies.

Green and blue of a bruised place

A losing place

A new place

To stay, to pass through

To ground yourself, mount.

We have never seen the arc

Felt the arc, known the arc

Though we speak

Of it often

Its bending, bending,

Bending towards the just hands

Of time, the fair lap.

The righteous

Orchestrated plans.

But soon, like all saplings, it too will snap.