Friday, March 8, 2013

Étaín


I read the words of poets 
placing their black upon white 
scrapping and clawing into existence awareness honed and winged 
fighting for the shadowed lands and quartered secrets 
truth hanging …
hope carving petals into the tilled soil of this day 
this night where everything strives for a measure of brilliance 
pause 
amongst meteors and moons 
to know with every turn two songs play and a story runs river-wild as the owl takes a left to Venus swallowing this night 
these winged words black upon moon white

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