Confession [#3]

once i whispered weary to heaven
to the sun below while the moon glowed
ignorant of stars; a million bowed
each answering in silent even
to the earth i wondered, wild; afraid
inhaling incense of myrrh and mint
patron of a new roadside prophet
neither lamenting where i’d been lain
in rest, at night, heaven’s stars apart
the sun below – again on my knees
i hold my tongue; no thing do i please
neither do i whisper to the dark
and i alone, no darkness to fear
emptiness alone, and i am here


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