On a Long Walk Home

The jazz faded as the night grew,
I pushed my form beneath the
clouds and myself darkness threw.
Hollow trees abound me in soot
and blackness, hemmed in cuffs of
soft winter songs and tufts of wind.
I went down the road so laid, from
one place to another, a bridge durch
darkness made. A river swarmed in
colors of shooting lights, its wasps and
bees with stingers dye my eyes’
delight. I ventured past the bridge
and to the softness of familiarity came,
my bones packed thin, that I by my
home been maimed. I pushed
just further between two giant
rocks, my eyes turned past their
shadows, as I, dilettante, attempted
to muse out their meanings,
parse out passage from forbidding
stone. I set all my words in tablets,
basalt or lime, meaning lost to me
like a sorcerer in his shiny stones.


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