Amuse mouche

A breath of reason, quiet
As a slumbering guard,
Easy as falling, effortless
As unknowing.

Then whimsy shifts the burden
And our wings become despair,
The high notion of pointlessness
When all visible light fails

And only the path remains,
Unlit and wholly
Vulgar as a bishop,
Only more like a cat in heat.

The ancient wisdoms fail to impress
Upon us the hasty times
In which we live,
With left baggage

From countless dead hours,
From times when it took
Only a second thought
To kill an idea,

When enslaved and enslavers alike
Believed the same corrupt verses,
When change was a thing
Of generations.

So ring cold the wind,
Bring down the ancient will to
Dance, among the chosen,
And sing, among the frozen.

The old cycles continue,
Now stronger, now weaker,
But always sure-footed, inevitable
Unto the unforeseeable.

The same skills — to kill,
To hunt, to take away without
Hesitation — still function
But how long?

Geology is gaining on us.
Our charts are uncertain,
Blank just where we need them,
Gaping lacunae for us to leap into.

Thunder snow

It seemed an appropriate time to repost this, from 3 years ago.

exiles child

The clouds thickened and cracked the planks of heaven
Heaved overboard their burden
And crushed the green and brown spring in pale dunes

Robins puffed to pigeon size
Buds disappeared beneath white-laced wings
Of earth-shackled trees

No one about but Cossack girls
With speckled jeans and high boots
Pulled along on bright orange leashes

Their dogs resolute and patient
Sniffing remnants of bygone colleagues
And sprinkling messages in the snow

Long ago such snow shrouded mysteries
What was it I imagined?
All of life and death I suppose

All of longing all of waiting
All smothered ambivalence
All new and green erupting from stagnation

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