The way he tells it, it sounds like this guy
invented the spring’s first breeze, you know? Air
to breathe, the wind to fly on, atmosphere
incarnate: his kingdom is like a kite,
so callow, incongruous on the ground.
Indeed, it’s one enormous piece of steel.
It’s bent, held taut by thin steel cords,
shaped like a huge kite, like it could fly. Like
it could fly to the moon and back. ‘So the deaf
can hear it sing,’ he says. He plays a chord.
‘So the blind can see it fly…’
It’s like I’m standing next to the space shuttle.
Somehow you want to shout, but can’t. You can’t
be heard. Even its silence is a palpable thing.
When we are born, we cry that we are come
To this great stage of fools…