An orphaned night rises over the saintly gardens of Bologna…
I am looking for you among these ruins that call themselves poems
Looking for you as if it the last thing to be done in this greying mist
Before dusk I have seen you moving as a thread of silk from a spiders
Cloak I have seen you tasting water made of prayer and ash
And a little horse in your pocket
The solemn world drinking at the
Wells of indifference….
Names falling out of the autumn
Between each spoken word….
A sacredness resounds
It’s quivering motion turning in a
As the silence that glistens in a ravens eye….
Of what can never be spoken
Watching in its spirit voice
Toward our yearning….
Where light mirrors through
Breath falls out of a crescendoing wind
Breath looking for its life
Bells of paper prayers burning where once
the sentinels stood
Trees calling to one
Trees in their remembered shadows
October 4 19