Other Ears
As if by other ears,
you hear the trees cracking,
a black ice splitting the sky,
a pickaxe laying bare
night’s white bones.
Sleepers arise
still dreaming of such things.
A cave, and inside
that carved-out ear
the dreams of others’
troubling you
into a kind of love.
And was it you walking
angrily away
driven wild and shouting,
with a night-gale roaring
in some other ear?
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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