Speaking Eryngos

The sea burning, 
 the heads of blued
 Thistles nodding now,  
 You are drift  
 Ing across the dry grassy  
 Field of perception. 
 Above me,
 Humming with the  
 Softness of hands in mud, 
 Words wing and land, 
 Clutching the branch of hope
 That this is finally a sign.
 The ache between the dunes, tilted 
 Towards the future, and darkened – 
 The song buried, sang back to me
 By the whispering reeds.
 I have a hope that  
 I, too, am moving towards the salted
 River of woe.  
 My word covers the flame  
 And my word holds the flame –  
 You and I are these silver metals,
 Lead, mercury, cadmium,
 Submerged in corrosion. 
 We are out cold in  
 The moonlight and shining.  
 How the shine of night lasts,  
 More than a memory of even  
 A lamp, for this is pure stone light, a 
 Spectre against the stretch of darkness,  
 An image seizing alone in 
 The thorned meadow.
 We speak a vision,
 Speak a future into existence.
 Like a burning. 

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