
terrain unknown
and powerful steep,
I journey. . .
forgotten language
of maps
torn in two
and crumpled into crannies
–a new kind of nonsense
too
hooded I–
shiver under sweat
find pocks
mid-step
by touch,
gaze fixed to
sparkling mirage
above
–neither God, nor Son, but mine–
reflecting from shattered
spectacles.
December 1, 2017 





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