Sorrow Gondola

The high-tension lines

taut in cold’s brittle kingdom

north of all music.

~

The white sun, training

alone, runs the long distance

to death’s blue mountains.

~

We need to exist

with the finely printed grass

and cellar-laughter.

~

The sun lies low now.

Our shadows are goliaths.

Soon shadow is all.

The orchid blossoms.

Oil tankers are gliding past.

And the moon is full.

Medieval fortress,

a foreign city, cold sphinx,

empty arenas.

~

Then the leaves whispered:

a wild boar plays the organ.

And the bells all rang.

~

And the night streams in

from east to west, traveling

in time with the moon.

A dragonfly pair

fastened to one another

went flickering past.

~

The presence of God.

In the tunnel of birdsong

a locked door opens.

~

Oak trees and the moon.

Light and mute constellations.

And the frigid sea.