Poetry

When the black vastness overtakes us,

we stand in the tracks of shepherds

whose words on such nights

connected cold lights to form

the winged horse and flame-born bird

and the twins that led them forward.

 

But to speak the astral truths,

to see our names consumed

in unquenchable heat,

to fuse with unsayable source

shooting across the skies,

straight through the holes in our eyes.

–Donald Levering

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