Endless horizons of wheat and corn out of Willa Cather's reach, and Ross Perot moving through it all. I clicked a lever for my candidate, the curtains opened like at Oz, and my vote blew out the doors of the Jehovah Witness hall. I walked back through the saffrony maple leaves just wet enough to stick to my basement trap door, and sat outside and read some student papers on the Gulf War. I thought of the states floating in their electoral colors on the screen the way the scuds and patriots flickered in their matrix dots before and after the Giants played the Bills on channel 4. In another century Galileo said "but still, it moves" under his breath, and today the Vatican agrees. Since legends keep us sane, I think today of Cianfa, one of the five thieves of Florence who was clasped by a six foot lizard who ate his nuts and went right up his torso until the two of them were two-in-one. I love the clemency of roads this time of year the way they tail off to the beautiful barns.
		Copyright © 1998 Peter Balakian.