Monday, January 9, 2017

Lightning & Fog

I've been out here on this undefined ledge
for a long time, I have no idea why.
The world was made with lightning and fog,
in bursts of illumination, in echos of thunder, 
reverberating in the darkness.
I turn the TV on. A doll in a powder blue tuxedo 

and top hat dances across the screen.
He knows all the latest moves from a century ago.
I could almost read a book by that light
but I left my reading glasses behind.
(or maybe they just fell off my head 
while I was sleeping).

Beyond the horizon are undulating hills.
A gravedigger could get lost in that terrain,
among the hip bones and clavicles of the dead.
One day those stumps will grow wings,
unfolding, transfigured, rising,
luminous as the stars.