Dark Poem

ANCIENT CRIES

 

 

Ancient cries

still floating between things,

like algae of sound,

caught in the aerial shores of my thought.

Then the centuries dissolve like crystals of oblivion

and I am again the first man

working his stitch through the foam

groping for footing among the bitter shuttles

that are weaving the mass of night.

Enough for one hair to touch bottom.

 

-RH-

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