divination: moving day
Unum.
"These are things that will not remain buried."
The line was scribbled in an child's journal in an adult hand
Left behind when the grieving was too much.
Deus.
Mistrustful of its own intentions,
The newly born shudders.
A voice is recalled and then discarded.
It curls its way into light, and stops.
Despair drove it to be born. Mystery fuels it.
Triad.
Finally in the present tense.
It eats the missing line of poetry
And something else forgotten in the haste
to depart. It lives on what is left behind.
It lives in rooms that are finally empty
and chews the pictures off the covers of books.
Every day it grows to look more like something that once was reflected
in the eye of a
lantern.
1995