Clarity Belongs to No One

We move closer to a haunted world. The ghost of civilization walks beside us. It carries the water-logged charter of planets, it bears the wounds of a duel to the death. I have seen the ghost swooshing by, oblivious. If there is a face to recognize, a veil obscures it. The metaphysical repulses the senses. A hint of divinity oozes only mystery. Clarity belongs to no one. Sheers billow on a windless day. Bach composes an organ fugue, adante fades into silence. No one is seated at the keyboard. I remember the melody of spring, resonating into summertime. Shocks of wheat served as echo chambers. The sun pounded out fiery percussion. Clouds clanged cymbals. Birds trilled the soprano notes. Arias soared. Milton recites “Paradise Lost,” but the audience has no ears to hear. He switches to “Paradise Regained,” only the sound of one hand clapping. The book in my lap disintegrates to dust. Even the binding cannot be saved. Even the text cannot be reclaimed. Paradise loiters on the fringe of a drowning world. Its only music: a funeral dirge. I close my eyes and see Chopin playing his. The ghost swims home, humming.