And I know that I’ve lost something.
Ghosts of sensation play across the fingers and palm
That cradled it
Recollection of its scent rides bareback
On the periphery of my senses.
I’m turned around,
In this twisted tunnel
Hunting the light at its end.
The symbols we create are meaningless.
Until we force life into their vessels
I want to throttle them
And watch our fervence
Fade from their eyes
The day weeps dusk
I squint against the radiant imminence of nightfall
I fill my reservoir with half-light
What gifts from falling shadows?
My slate has been blank for a fortnight and more
I run ragged the night
Shaking echoes from their slumber.