graphic artist unknown
In the North country, there is a man broad with intentions,
the Aurora Borealis peering over his shoulders
as he hoists stars upon his back.
He looks toward the Great Beyond
with something slightly less than awe,
having been there before, having felt the heft
of its wind as it slowly arcs across a setting sun,
pulling tendrils of clouds in its wake.
He eases himself beneath sharp edges of quietude,
strains of forgotten music pulsing oddly in his heart,
piercing his fingers until he drips with ink,
then paints trails of trials, tribulations,
even unexpected joys.
The river moves, its currents
trembling over stones, aiming for the sea
where nets are cast, a silent stroke tossed into the water
where fish are leery of sudden movements,
their wisdom hard-won by generations.
Shorelines change with each surge of tide,
carving maps with moments.
Each dirge digs a deeper hole,
fearful shards pricking every step
with all that still remains unknown.
The pain of hunger, the hunger of pain
etches verses into our eyes, our ears,
as revolutions take us to task for our bones,
so still with swollen gestures
left undone.
We burn, smoke hissing
as embers become memories,
dusk descending upon the pond
where fish swim even as they sleep,
their dreams navigating wild mysteries.
