[Bill Dyes]

The Subcommittee


We were certain
that truth in matters of State
would most resemble a tree.

All of us knew
it was a tree we approached,
leaves shimmering in the distance.

A majestic,
efficient shape achieved by reaching
out to all directions at once.

And we saw the
storm approaching like closed fists
threatening argument and indecision.

The rains coming
and the shining leaves falling into
limp pages deconstructing on the ground.

All that remains
are piles and piles of testimony
lying everywhere, attached to nothing.

We have rooms filled
with stacks of paper standards
simply restating our preferences

and unable
to stand when the winds came,
our precious roots posturing in air.