by Michael T. Young
They arrive as it gets dark and hover there
looming through night, leaving by morning.
No one can explain them, not even those
in official suits talking to the cameras.
And for days before they were noticed
people dreamed of large bees pollinating
their minds like open flowers. But the memory
of those wonderlands wilted in the mystery
that consumes their sleep. Now they spend
their nights watching and listening,
the drone of their suspicions growing
larger than all the wishes on all the stars
that they no longer wish on or even
take notice of. It’s all about the drones
and why they’re hovering. Although,
the exhaustion and fear is not
because their faults will be discovered,
that we’re being watched—we already know
there’s no place that does not see us,
though Rilke never imagined it so literally
as we do: cameras buried in Apollo’s hip,
relaying messages about what we mortals
are up to. No, we know we’re being watched
and by nothing numinous, but just people
as flawed as we are, and just as mistaken as us
that there are things we can keep to ourselves.
looming through night, leaving by morning.
No one can explain them, not even those
in official suits talking to the cameras.
And for days before they were noticed
people dreamed of large bees pollinating
their minds like open flowers. But the memory
of those wonderlands wilted in the mystery
that consumes their sleep. Now they spend
their nights watching and listening,
the drone of their suspicions growing
larger than all the wishes on all the stars
that they no longer wish on or even
take notice of. It’s all about the drones
and why they’re hovering. Although,
the exhaustion and fear is not
because their faults will be discovered,
that we’re being watched—we already know
there’s no place that does not see us,
though Rilke never imagined it so literally
as we do: cameras buried in Apollo’s hip,
relaying messages about what we mortals
are up to. No, we know we’re being watched
and by nothing numinous, but just people
as flawed as we are, and just as mistaken as us
that there are things we can keep to ourselves.
Michael T. Young’s fourth collection, Mountain Climbing a River, will be published by Broadstone Media in late 2025. His third full-length collection, The Infinite Doctrine of Water, was longlisted for the Julie Suk Award. He received a Fellowship from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts and the Jean Pedrick Chapbook Award. His poetry has been featured on Verse Daily and The Writer’s Almanac. It has also appeared in numerous journals including I-70, The Journal of New Jersey Poets, Rattle, and Vox Populi.
