In the Wake of the Underground Sun, A. Andrew Gonzales
Dare to tear that edge of air
where swallows fly and clouds with voices
Sing songs that lift oblivion high
and drop remembrance behind grieving eyes.
The key is to sit for a while
and smile without duty or obligation
At an auburning evening sky
and perhaps to contemplate one’s fate,
And perhaps to keep one’s spirit open
to the invisible stars that pierce the half-light,
And perhaps to touch a truth that
spreads like paved gravel upon the horizon,
And while the clouds change color…
Perhaps to bathe in blood and weep
or to deliver one’s eyes to the labyrinths of sleep,
And perhaps to have sinister dreams
and to scream one’s fears out loud,
To both confess and absolve one’s Self
and to shed one’s sorrows like a shroud.
