The Memory of Skulls On a Hill
The air-ward climb –
On the weaver’s hill:
Ozone-layered: across
The delight of new eggs;
Soft – in my intent, brief!
Transitory; leaping
From side to brighter side;
The non-conceived patterns
Growing in frequencies
By our sea-storms and dead deluge:
Are they brief?
Are they intent?
These cata-combs of broken skulls!
Are they the import of our essence?
Copyright © Canny Amah | Year Posted 2009
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