DINOSAUR TRACKS
—at the Beneski Museum of Natural History
There’s something delicate about them,
these three-toed impressions
scattered across grey slabs
like a dead poet’s cursive
slanting toward transformation.
The room’s full of them,
spidery, shifting journeys
that begin and end in silence,
unanswered questions. We’ll never
know if the words opened their doors
for the poet, what they had to say
about eternity, if anything.
As for the tracks, their message
can’t be translated either.
Maybe they’re notes minus
sound, each print
a score of stars, a darker shadow
of a God burning to write
the symphony of everything,
over and over, until the music
of imagination ripples out
across time’s bottomless lake.
Or maybe there is no God,
no pattern, not even
one intentional, elegant riff
waiting for science
to transcribe its measure
onto a new theory.
Outside, every leaf
hums quantum music.
Listen, the sun’s playing
its red violin.
Lori Lamothe has published two books, Happily and Trace Elements, with Aldrich Press, as well as a few chapbooks, most recently Ouija in Suburbia with dancing girl press. Her new poems appear in The Literary Review, Painted Bride Quarterly, Verse Daily, and failbetter.