Soul
Age has brought it nearer.
The more I acknowledge it
the closer it surfaces.
It does not care for the cosmos,
for bright flowers, or sunsets.
Its eats all that stuff -
chews them up into words.
I am done describing it.
It's not specific.
it glows with a perfect ignorance,
it’s as innocent as a rat
in a cheese factory.
It’s creaturely, a minor deity
goats feet and a penny whistle.
It breaks a mind ripple
then tsunamis’ my pond
with a fish hook.
As I age it occasionally
peeps out of my pores,
it’s puppy dog eyes
asking how it got to be
me?
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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