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Ancient Hope

ancient hope

a moderately heavy mass of emergent winds, kick up sleeping debris from the surrounding space, spreading its floating carpet, singing in concert with sultry wings, humid and upwardly ascending, gathering behind it a light dusty snow shower of bitter loess, of tiny things, the soil of flesh sinew and bone, of cause and effect, of ages that have fallen away, echoing, buried deep within, far-flung fading cries, silently settling low.

herein lies a prehistory of things, events unknown, slurried in imagination, untenable, sure of almost nothing, the strata of movement, upheaval in reverse motion, nature singing its eternal cry, cyclic, a randomness in chaos builds to a crescendo of brilliant flashes, all photon- energetic, where mineral flotsam radiates outward forming obscure patterns, falling in space, finding place as if by intrinsic design, where oh where is that idiomorphic template not seen?

of wandering magi, of fading sand trails, of swollen feet and the everlasting verve that tugs at the heels, pushing one forward to that acid moment, strangled in the dust of vanity, crawling to the utmost height where the fall of sands, grain on grain, restate their inability to bond fast, washing over and out into the depths where a proto-historic humility silently sleeps covered, quiet and alone.

there are tools in the heart of the earth, a broadband principle of collective accumulations, scattered here and there, everywhere, no obvious settlement map; the white noise as drone amongst the minerals and biologic debris, commingling with an earnestness to bond further afield, scaffolding across great divides, as time shrivels with movement, hampering the curious eye of they who search within, the inquisitive nose sniffing up musty ridden time, the cranky deposits pay no attention, their work is done.

Copyright © Dennis Foss | Year Posted 2018

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