99 / Believe The Birds

Once in awhile, we may find ourselves in a new world. Transported. It has happened to me. And poetry can be, once in awhile, our means of conveyance. Who knew Jack Spicer? I didn't. Until now. But now I do.

The words that wrought the spell were those below. I was, as quick as that: transported.

Upon the old amusement pier I watch
The creeping darkness gather in the west.
Above the giant funhouse and the ghosts
I hear the seagulls call. They're going west
Toward some great Catalina of a dream
Out where the poem ends.

But does it end?

The birds are still in flight. Believe the birds.

Jack Spicer, Imaginary Elegies IV