Here in the fire-shallows, the night rolls on, I
seek oblivion...
The message that she left me, the flames
that slip like water through the cracks. I seem
to remember. & follow the birds in thought
as they drift against the clouds, watch them line
along the wires.
This silence I find alone,
the last few remnants of the
blue…
Painter of flame, artificer of presence.
Who is it watches over us, without so much
as a will to intervene? We seek
the silences they took away, lay awake
in the twilit hours, that scratch at our
restless-brains.
Who is it will greet us with a silent
eye, without the slightest
word?
A leaf skims along the surface, & the birds
float in air, turn upon a breathless
wind, & we (the sages) left to conjure
amidst cloud, a consciousness, almost denied by those
vapors of negation. Will they have us
stay in place?
I see no reason
why I should not aspire, an eagle
still rising from a lie
that seeks (so mindlessly)
to harm…
We the voices of longevity, who seem
always to begin, again a life is
flashing in the rain, the distant-call
drowned out by some rasp of flame, that never
was a face we recognized.
After years resigned to silence,
at last the creature
speaks…
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