It all Happened On An Intangible Morning in the Middle Of Whispers
On an intangible morning
in the middle of whispers,
during the opera of
timelessness,
flames swept through
obscure metaphors
as I stood waiting for the earth
to slow down.
On the edge of an unthinking act
in the last chapter of the
operatic drama
of death and life,
and without thinking,
I extinguished a gleam, and
lofty thoughts started to burn
leaving gray ashes
of sculptured timelessness
as the curtain came down.
While I languished in a field
of nothingness,
where stars
pretended not to see me,
ravens made dark lists
of my thoughts.
And as the dark birds sipped
from the perfumed
scents of wilted altar flowers,
My mind, swimming in the shadows,
of the fragrances, saw
shadows turning into
whispers of ghosts moving,
like lost dreams across my mind.