By Ishmael von Heidrick-Barnes
Before Gathering Dusk
See me hovering
above unnecessary spans
diving for petrified fish
in imaginary lakes?
I am older
but not as distant
as the lines of power
drawn between us
Hear me
chattering
friends family generations
working together
in valleys
grown over houses?
If you asked
how to survive
one apocalyptic evening
after another?
I’d say
listen to the harmony of song
before gathering dusk
That silence that follows a good poem can be assumed to be
the work of the hearer’s awe, I think.
Telling is seeing.