The Seventh Wave  /22

 

To the ageless fire of solace,

the lesion and the healing wound

of arbitrary time, space holds forth

where that one fell, blindly,

through the gap of pretended

innocence.

 

Her voice spoke as if in a whisper

from all the days I'd sat alone

on the side of nameless mountain,

counting the chairs and plates.

 

Then, the sun rises away beyond

East where dust chokes the

armies of placebo in their world of pain.

 

That visit remains now

like cinders, like ashes,

like forage in the wild animal's psyche,

 

gripped in the fingers of rain.

 

 

22.