— Casey FitzSimons
To you we pass the torch, extinguished though it is,
muddy even, damp with inexorable cynicism,
and (as I’ve charged about with it) flicking into the air
the fungal perspiration of hortatory purpose.
Take it from me if you want it even, before I simply
thrust it into the mud, a soon-to-disintegrate monument
to futile achievement, obsolete ideals. Just leave it there
and pass by it without notice (if you even come this way,
your LED blinking in the thin haze of your natural element,
glowing through the sagging membrane of my amazement;
it fixes your coordinates, but doesn’t illuminate what’s ahead!).
So well have I taught you, so well you’ve adapted! So deftly crafted,
the repositionable armature of an improvised concept!
So cleverly have you repurposed the venerable legacy
to the expressed needs you so succinctly predicted and account for!
So sparkling in the thoroughly sustainable strobe of your LED,
that . . . ! Well, I’ll just plant it here. It’ll be fine.
I haven’t noticed any moths yet
in equiangular spiral about your light,
which is labeled, now I get close to it, “Stand By.”
But I am proud of you! Go to it!
To you we pass the torch, and just in time.