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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