A Poem Found in a Cave

Editor’s Note: Discovered
Behind a stone in deep,
Barren dirt.

Off on ancient ridges by
Falls that tumble down to
A hand that waves at
Me in the dark I

Seem to see walls in mist and
Gray men in suits tapping
Down alleys that I knew I could
Find once but lost
To a song sung on cold

Nights by fires that burn in
Deep canyon caves that we
Can only find by the bright
Lights of hands traced on

Ancient ridge walls. I…

Think so much of days in
Forests and feelings of running
Like a child lost…

In the dark.

Lines from a Changed Land

Tumbling and fallings and things
That once were now are washed
Away in streams that
Move to unknown lands. Things they

Say change and we must
Change with
Them. That towers move

And we move from quakes that
Topple stout buildings of
Yester-year. While it all seems

So tragic and old and like
A man sitting alone on the edge
Of ancient trees and not knowing
Which way to go.

3 Stanzas for Winter Days

Suddenly it all comes down and
A patient, pensive stillness
Settles out across the views

That stretch to cold-topped and
White-dusted hills with foot-
Prints you can trace as

You stand and watch and
Breathe in deep chills that still
Are coming quietly from
Somewhere else…

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Once, In November

In a room somewhere I see
A silent image of people who
Cry but do not talk and it

Seems to be all in
A great, white and frozen snow
Globe… a stage, a

Lone woman and nothing
But silence and hands and
People hanging perilously close

To the edge of
A railing. All,

All like a dream on a long night
Of numbers and colors and
Soft footsteps in a locked room

Where we only hear the rattling
Of ice and the purr of taxis
Waiting far below… Such a

Quiet night in a room,
Somewhere.

Quiet Streams that Whisper, Once

I wish I could tell you
About the wild beauty of
Distant slopes seen
Through the thick haze of
Squalid towns. The

Crunch of broken rocks. The
Silent hawks caught in a
Warm, wild breeze that blows
In before a storm with clouds that
Were coughed up from a desert
Lake near waterfalls that twist through
Steep, rugged and red
Canyon walls. All of

This… all is lost
Somehow to wild men in
Bushes who scrounge for coins and
Cotton that brakes off from stems
Shattered by the horses I can still
Just hear passing beyond the barren
Mountain gulches. I wish…

The carts go up the canyon and come
Down again. They move on
And off, while I
Am left sitting here smelling
Sweet lawn water sprinkling up
Across green locks and hear
The clouds break off and cool into
Colors of red and pink and, somewhere
In the distance: the purple that breaks
Into a house no one
Can find.