Reaching, I
can find no her.
Here, hours old,
dream-time before
the lonely mind weans
from the thing
the One.
-
Unfocused pair, still water- blue. Beyond them drawn down spiral threads, the woven husks of ghosts familiar pulling ripples from the over whelming. But not her. Not yet. -
She calls me, “Child,” through patterned shapes of them, brought from antiquity to bathe me in their memories of presence, and The Pool.
Unfocused pair, still water- blue. Beyond them drawn down spiral threads, the woven husks of ghosts familiar pulling ripples from the over whelming. But not her. Not yet. -
She calls me, “Child,” through patterned shapes of them, brought from antiquity to bathe me in their memories of presence, and The Pool.
