a Voyage

by Dieu

Deep and dark is the sea.

The way is lost.

In the face of the waters
lies time turning upon time
like a hungry wolf biting it’s own
tongue.

The tides pull and you are
a bird, a ship, an anchor,
a rope, a ring, a lost
thing that goes where
lost things go.

And so you close your eyes
and raise one hand,
like a prophet among
the silent multitudes of millions.

And the silence becomes
a curved echo,
a string of words,
a humming bell,
a braided hair,
a floating feather,
a net cast out to sea,

catching lost things
like innocence,
catching yourself

amidst.

And who is God
other than one
who tangles the net.

Advertisements