of the office, walls removed,
wires dangling without attached lights,
bathrooms emptied of all utility
we stumbled through clouds of white,
seeking the holy grail
the treasure at rainbow’s end:
not what is
but what will be
what will be our place
This blueprint of promise,
of hope, of desire for something better,
even if something worse is suspected,
or feared, or anticipated,
this blueprint is the point of our wandering
in this desolation of dust,
dust wiped away
if only for a moment.
And we see it. It’s there,
hanging on a wall.
We cluster around the altar
of information, the intelligent design
of forcing the greatest number of people
into the smallest amount of space.
In silence, the blueprint speaks,
communicates its magic of certainty,
displaying its obvious wisdom.
And we know
this too shall pass.
Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.