White peacock with tail of cloud and flame

sweeps before us

through blue wilderness

a pillared neck and unseen eye.

I have been gifted to see visions;

not to understand.

Moon unscrolls with lambent plea

her pictograms of smoke

before my darkened face . . .

Should I seek interpretations?

Too late; like winking stars

or wind-borne dust,

motes of memory

in light dispersing . . .


blank words like stones

memorial and graceless

are left standing

in the shadow of the sun.  




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