[Zoom in on the domestic setting, then shoot
the view through the kitchen window.]
Not one but two radio masts jab
at rain clouds, thunder, sunshine…
Too thin to own a shadow, these sticks
stake the roads and fields of home,
yet force Ilsa to look up to the sky,
shape-shifting all she knows below.
Standing at the kitchen sink, hands deep
in bubbles, she glances at her husband.
[After a slow close-up on Ilsa’s blue eyes, follow
her gaze, not his, in pace with her dreaming.]
In the window’s soft morning light,
his silhouette is hunched deep in thought.
Twenty years together, at far ends
of one space, not a word spoken today,
though they mirror silent stances.
Their love so different, yet so similar,
to the masts’ unbending metal.
Two poised arrows set to fly
were it not for their firm ground;
taut wires anchor them side by side.
[Hold the camera steady, focus sharp,
still and unwavering. Hold it, hold…]
She stares past him to the horizon;
the air pulses with hidden static.
“No matter what the future brings…”
Under their breath, they hum
distant versions of one song.