Haibun Today

A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Editor
Volume 4, Number 3, September 2010

Eduardo N. del Valle
Newark,  New Jersey, USA


Field Visit #5

At some point in their temporary formation clouds, sunlight, the Milk Moon’s radiance were closed off from these concrete and steel spaces, delegating definitions of their gravity to concave sounds, incandescent penumbra, the imbuing tang of dampness, piston breezes blowing from the tunnel.  My pupils must be eclipsing.  My left steel-toed foot, the one always leading the way when depths are dark, high and below, feels for the first rung, hands on the bars in a finger-jagging clutch.  It had already crossed my mind, while at grade in the trailer, going through floor plans and cross sections, that nobody later, after we’re done—regulars feeding on their self-made glory, too many surviving on incentives, and yet others by the day-to-day stuff—would give much of a heed.  And why should anyone? it’s what common American sense prescribes.  My feet find footing on the underpinned slab.  Fingers let loose, slowly,  of the ridged aluminum billet and the brain, skeptical by trade—or perhaps just not reasonably assured as of yet (and how can anyone else’s be, in this round darkness without Euclidean guarantees? not a corner, line or plane to be limned)—goes racing.  Flashlight at hand, now; I train its beam on the old shearwall, trace the cracks down to the sump pump pit.

creeping on concrete
vine of salt


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