How can I help you understand,
What I’ve seen and known?
If there’s something to comprehend,
It’s not to use that tone.
Exhuming secrets long o’er-grown,
Isn’t your work of hand.
Tell me how to explain in words,
The scen’ry shrouded,
With stinging o’er-powering senses;
Absorbing the clouded,
Days of what is sought in crowded,
Rooms, found afterwards.
Quick, be still. Calm inquisitions.
Forcing forth sealed-core,
To recollect its’ provincial,
Ghost-shadows, broke and tore;
Which plague the confines to the pore;
Please let the time forget itself,
Be ye still and know,
That although I may oft’ look lost,
Hope is found with cost low;
To all who seek to be thou so:
Dwellers for times’-self.
For time must seal itself a grave,
In everyone bound,
By the inhalant-smells of death,
Faulting ‘long cold, hard ground,
Spreading the stark resonant-sound,
Of the ancient knave.
For in each of us there lies,
What cannot be had.
To live, be, in this torrent-sea,
We must lose olden-bad,
And forget the set-stained sad of…,
Days lost to the skies.
K. Aldaya, 5/3/05
Picture: “The Ecliptic” by Larry Landolfi; https://500px.com/photo/339318/the-ecliptic-by-larry-landolfi?from=user