The Coast Of The Contingency
by Ct. Pf. Joseph A. Uphoff, Jr.
Triggered by the descending weight
as the stretcher collapsed beneath
the whirring gears, the new landscape
colored their thought with patio
furniture beside the glowing coals
and the aquamarine water. Entrance
to the brightness of the stars, these
smoothing planes responded to the leverage
of splines that gashed the center of dark
comfort. It was touching the ripple,
on the waves of turquoise sheared
by the humming machinery, elaborate
with lace. Extension to the edge
brought the middle of the sign
its emptiness, and it glared into
the contemptuous face of the clock.
By the circular design of the pool,
the eye, with tranquility, wistfully,
was gazing into the still fantasy
of contemplation and, derived
therefrom, the concentrated image
of acceptable traansference. Like
a projector, the alarm scattered its
image across the bricks of the wall.
These stones of drama conveyed,
to the gathered attention, small
vestiges of the logic of form so that
all could partake of the faceted
light and the warmth in the air.
The intensity of the scene above
the horizon was humble in regard
to the tendons of the neck so that, in reply,
a message was sent from the song
of conversations pouring like
a waterfall beneath the shade
of the great, old trees. The glass
was filling with the paper of
white, glowing bright with snow
flakes or the petals of heated
flowers and the clover of straightened
roads, the model of a wild
land there, where the house was
built with hand tools. Dreaming
of boots with the rough leather
of dry prairie grass and the
galloping tires of dusty jeeps,
he wanted to go into the forest
in the cold, misty weather. She
wanted to burn the sticks beneath
the old kettle and to smell the tendrils
of acrid smoke escaping
into the shifting breeze. They
were wearing the flannel shirts,
or they were looking down into glasses
of crushed ice, watching the icicles
drip water onto the damp concrete
of the patio. They were serene,
but the numbers of the dial scowled
watching the minutes and the seconds
cascade into the depths
of the rapids and the canyons of
the sand castles untamed along the shore.