“We are blind and live our blind lives out in blindness. Poets are damned but they are not blind, they see with the eyes of angels.”
–William Carlos Williams
As the fires slip to embers,
the cave walls grow close.
Only the oldest visions glow
with clarity enough to divine.
Fear was ever the chain
which bound us to the floor,
eyes fixed upon the shadows
eager for tranfiguration.
Outside, the sun has set. It’s dark,
too dark to see our haggard faces.
The new moon has yet to rise,
and heavy clouds obscure the stars.
We huddle closer together, afraid,
whispering our secrets through the night.
(September 17, 2024)
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