The sky falls open as it abandons the pole every horizon pulled loose from its anchor Fifty years after the world's end, the victor returns to silence and shadow where ghosts wait Another Pentecost showers fire the angels ate burning pieces of divine flesh to soothe the throat The hem of Sophia's dress, blazing red, whips its float against the winds that summon reluctant dawn. Bright electric arrows burning the air, torn words pasted over a breached wall. Anodyne pubescent collate nasal recoil extension failure grimoire pentagonal hells Odysseus climbs out of the murderous surf, naked and afraid, to find the laundromat closed. I am blind in my need for You, my voice stopped by utter longing. The Little Dry Fork ceases its flow, becomes a chain of isolate pools.
Words return to silence every moment, inarticulate bronchial hacking.
Outside the Quaker Meeting, a wren plays on rain-filmed stone. Let the one who has visions be as though he saw dust. The dust You awoke has followed You home again.