in the dark, where desires grow devious,
I kneel by my window under stars like
the tiny teeth of a seaserpent,

wondering how best to know my life

& the silence furthers, the night full of
ambient luster

the stealth of inner self we may not know,
I concede to The Other :

the sprucewood that lends itself
to the creek’s waters

rimmed with the yellow days of summer
(their hours turn inwards, every past
memory of its wandering)

primitive as Golgotha,
everything is equal

having been gathered from the same
dark rib of thought

I am nothing that has not been had before

precarious radiance frames the skylit world,
the balance of night that shines in the cedar,
the winter-vetch, the redreeds

earth’s great labor, its cloak of injuries
our mother’s loathsome & handsome hours

how one cannot know another completely
how this is beautiful,
and lonely only if you let it

(we keep the final descent within us). -smakka–bagms

 

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