Saturday, September 18, 2021

mythos

This field has fallen

to the bottom of the gray

escarpment, day climbing to

dusk, footwork and the feels

stitched to the stage,

this old show, this ancient 

gaze fixed upon a missing star—

the choir and the clockwork 

elevate each urgency 

seared into the flesh by

wheel work and wet work 

laws and longings,

crowns and blasphemes

the story standing in the wind.

This is the night upon us, 

this is the bumptious dark,

the flame hidden by 

the hand, cupped palm

giving the fire life. 

at

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