A pilgrimage of followers, of teenage girl disciples
with dads trailing behind, trickling
through ticket check barriers, borrowing youth.
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Come again, come again-
Orphic spring and lawny glens,
Wink gold light; beams supper bright,
Shine upon my tranquil hermit den…
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Would it be too much to bear,
An eye and throat so sincere
That air would grow burdened by Sound.
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Rusted, familiar glints of silver and gold,
cold metal dances through my fingertips,
resting in the lock with a click.
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As Tufts and stubbles arise from their not so ephemeral wat’ry fiefdoms,
Thrush and blackbird alike chant and despair for company of woman or worm
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Homesickness to me is not always
a particular memory or place or person,
but a debilitating, sneaky sadness
that creeps up on weekday nights.
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It’s been so long since I last saw
the faces that I used to know
But now you’re near, so close to me—
a hundred miles is just a throw.
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Light is breaking through the cracks,
the crawling king snake snaps his back,
his hollow heart was painted black
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