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Under the Black Light |
A forgotten graveyard's fog
lost the sun and moon long ago.
Ears and minds wander here
guided by the touch of darkness.
Minds change here where an owl's
cold call turns to caw, and a cat's
purr turns to dirge.
Nothing flies beneath the night's
black mask. Nothing has enough
shape to have a name, but touch sees
hard stones as rows of broken teeth
and low-hanging vines tangle
as loose ends of a story.
A crow could not see his shadow
in this haze thick as spiderwebs
whose nets cannot break a fall.
But when blind eyes adjust
to darkness, they can read between
invisible lines, and the silk shroud
reflects a memory of moonlight
that ties together the living and lost.
copyright 2015
Robert S
King |
