Wednesday, March 15, 2017

NOMAD

Night underfoot
Back creased, mouth dry
Clouds part, sun breaks
Won't stop

Overhead glory
Inferior are right and left
This temple is motion
This frame shifts

Madness writ gold
I speak with the tongue of holy men
My dust is the dust of ages
Worship crawls my skin

Afterward, fades
Crunch of gravel
Whistle of wind
Road, again, road

Day ends
Sun breaks, clouds close
Mouth creased, eyes dry;
King's progress.

No comments:

Post a Comment