In Second Life
In Second Life the footnotes
have toenotes, all meaning
reduced to an imprint in the loam,
the loam itself an interglacial residue,
but less abstract than sand
in an hourglass, the beauty
and complexity of loss.
And lost in translation between
lives, the Stranger walked the road
to Emmaus, not seeking
healing hot springs but rather
the travelers on their seven-mile
worried way from the Earthly City.
“Stay with us. The day
is nearly over.”
With the breaking of bread
the flesh quickened, the Unknown
became Known, then disappeared,
leaving a residue of spirit
and corporeal suspicion,
no footprints marking the dust.
Editor’s Note: This poem raises more questions than it answers—life/game, footprints/spirit, reality/residue.
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