Slanted Silver

Somewhere off the mountain
drones the harsh monotony
of a compressor where the road
lost its footing in the flood.
Its rough-hewn density
removes the breath from air,
replaces time with tempo.
Hurry, it commands, keep up.

It is a part of these hills,
and apart;
as much now as the pegmatite
embedded under every laden surface,
shearing flakes along the grain.
A flash of blue along the treeline—
the bunting shards a blooming
tulip poplar, and calls, silvering
construction’s constant boom
like mica silvers pegmatite
to dignify our every step.

The metal matrix has gone silent
and a million mirrors in the dust
have caught the slanted sun.
The bunting’s silver song persists.

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Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash

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This poem was generated by the author’s human mind with zero AI / LLM involvement.