Two Winter Poems

In the midnight of the world
When time reposes in itself
And silence swallows up our words
The void is pregnant with tomorrow
A secret hidden in the darkness
A prophecy concealed in linesIMG-20191212-WA0005
“Eat the book,” the angel says
“And in the darkness read the signs.”



The lamp is hid beneath a bushel
A veil of sorrow and a shroud of history
Estranged and rent by Saturn’s mystery
Scattered far and wide in fragments
Strewn in countries alien and strange
Over yesterday and bleak tomorrow
But my heart can gather up sundry shards
Repair and recollect the scoriae of light
(By the ceaseless work of living bellows
That fan a fire that’s true and bright
And warm a dancing, throbbing furnace)
I transfigure the broken shards to sight.

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