Tabula Rasa

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.