The world is flat-after all.
From here on the ledge
of this precipice, crisp
ridges jut through hazy space.
Placed in perch, the pendulum,
humming in wide ether ebbs
across calm chasms float
ascending the abysmal
highs and neaps-
the watcher sleeps, while
I's skip across the surface-
It is good to know,
up-on deeper reflection,
if light were soft,
nightfall would not hurt-
so much as with onus-
we carry dreams, inklings
heavy enough for sinking stars.
In arches,
the moon bounces back,
putting herself away in phases
setting limits on the possibilities
of how far eyes can go in one day.
Photo By Jon Sullivan [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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