By Nancy Somerville
They seem to be seeing
something we don’t.
One crouches,
the other stands with bowed head,
both tentative, reaching for the intangible,
almost being swallowed by it.
Is it in their heads
or there but invisible?
They’re wearing what look like duster coats;
this is work then, serious stuff,
an experiment maybe.
Theories have been tested,
calculations double-checked,
margins of error debated
but praxis has eluded.
Till now.
For how many years have they dreamed
of this day?
The object of their desire taking form,
that future approaching
though not quite there,
still beyond their grasp,
just, for the moment.
It’s coming yet.
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