Chicano Poet

Monday, August 02, 2010

Stirrings In The Dark

While Isidra
ate her supper,

down in the bowels
of the face on Mars

silence struggled
with silence---

as silence
is wont to do,

and dust clung to dust,
photons became even prouder.

In the sepulcher
a muscle or two twitched,

a leg and arm
tried to return to warmth,

realized heat as something good,
became slowly accustomed to it.

Funny how a hundred thousand years
can be wiped away

with the blink of an eye.
Darkness was his light,

he relished
in its presence.

He recognized
his own life.


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