Beneath the White Noise of Age My Voice is Muffled

jardines laberinto del Longleat en Wiltshire, Inglaterra.

 

Tangents follow tangents

As I speak. Transitions

Diverge from an initial

Turn in conversation,

Like fractals of ice spread

Across eyes of the dead.

 

I stop and cannot see

I’m lost in an older tale.

From birth, the labyrinth unfolds:

Where I’ve been, where I go

Tangle as each step implodes

Into my present quandary,

Much as snow sifts across

Barren hills beneath the stars.

 

(March 3, 2018)

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s