P O E T R Y

Sinking Through Solid

Alienation wandering

Image by Ken Martin

Shadow passing, blots out light
I look up quickly
as though in fear of predator ancient
across the years of many millions
swooping down with talons and teeth

Take a stick and stir black earth
inhale the brooding rich aroma
peat bog under hooded cloud
dripping swale, a house of history
a vat of eons bubbling out

I came here to watch the days lose their meaning
to breathe deep the fog at time’s end

Finally it has come to be
I have fallen outside time’s curve
and feel myself inside the bog
legs withered as whitened roots
arms thin as twisting vines
creeping toward sodden light
drawn deep in muck and mire
tannic acids in slow immersion
seething silent sinking
no bottom here to find

I enter a bone-white forest,
it has a name but it won’t tell me.
I know, I understand,
I gave up mine so long ago

Thanks for reading…