Last of the really early poems for a while, this one circa 1990. I make no claims for these other than that they are, indeed, poems.


I entered the dark to the sound of a voice
Echoed a thousand times, an exploring shadow
Which called all of me to revel in the night

Where I walked silent. Instead I absorbed,
Swallowed the sound, took it for my own
Unacknowledged use and wondered why

It scared me. This unseen someone who naturally
Exposed me with a single wondering shout then
Passed, still beyond me, to some circle of light

That I should never know. It didn’t matter
Who it was, only that the futility of the
Mockingbird has not impeded him, while my

Song grew dusty and unused even as the snow
Covered the ground at my feet and threatened to fill
My space with a deadening, deafening white.

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