I am searching for these lines,
Former filmy
hints, vestiges of cadence

I laid them out with pins
charred sacrifices
spilling doubt over
fear’s stony altar
while their names
press like smoke on the edges
of my frenetic heartbeat

I can no longer hear them
pressing, stepping
except in desperate

what I held
I no longer keep
as little worshipped

Instead, they have lodged
themselves in this
partial abyss,
little cold stones

and broken with their
crimped blue itinerant wings

This filmy steel thread
I have unwound, a celestial weaving
unruffled on this loom of vibration
ceaselessly insistent of
what I no longer am able to touch

Yet, I am frail,
and I can hear the insidious
rapture of death

My roots have dislodged.
They have split like shocks
and muttering atoms of

I can no longer
understand their mutters
or their painful movement

I do not know who to ask
what they sing
or chant
seeped into the shadow
and tendril of rising memories.

They are a cruel half voice
of metal and sky

and still I crawl back
begging, though they no longer
recognize me

so many voices
skulking away without even
a hasty intrusion
I would welcome like

This piece was composed by an author wishing to remain anonymous. In a tragic stroke reminiscent of Ms. Dickinson, they disposed of most of their works; however this one has survived the purge. It is my hope that this poet soon realizes the pulchritude of their work and remembers that they picked up the pen for a reason.

5 thoughts on “Gone?

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