5-16-2014

Strong trees, older
than the numbered streets,
were winnowed and
bent, and carried
by the first light
that poured over
bungalows and furnaces
through thick glass blocks
set amongst
the house's oldest bricks.

Thin black shadows
framed with dancing fire.

"Here am I,"
I said.

"Send me."

I have not followed you
anywhere since
in any way,

and yet you have been always true
to our first conversation;

dark indwelt with
dread impossible light,
threaded
through the doorways
and the sills.

And though you have made
your language to me
a rhythm
of silences
and sidings
and half-remembered truths,

I know that I have seen
the edges of you

out

among the waitings,

your voice formless,
vast, and
inexplicable,

murmering
to whom
you have chosen to murmer.