by Michael Burns
A thousand years inside a stone, at the bottom of a frozen…lake.
Glacier slow the earth reactors warmed it,
the sun dried up the lake.
New green showed it’s tender leaves.
And crowding in around, and thought it theirs.
Years flicker in time, like bubbles in clear glass.
Images from one brief life, onto the next.
I’ve lived a life of just one day and lived also a hundred years.
And love has held me many times, in repetitious followings;
and I have known her many times.
She has no memory, too,
hidden like me, and I wait for her to wake.
Dust collects around my feet, and blind and surely mad…I’ll think — I’ll wait.
And asked a different way, the same questions.
Why must I be reminded of it all?
I’m bored with it…
Cur faciem tuam abscondis homo occulted
Why, why do you hide?
This game you play, and in the end, the truth you cannot deny
And wake from dreams that tell you secrets of yourself…
and forget them quickly upon your rising.
Again in eager bound, you race to day’s end, and sleep the sleep, and dream again the answer.
They taught you well these August men…
You are known by all but yourself.
A piece of gold refusing to be precious.
And in so hiding…becomes your choice.
All images and writing are the copyright of Michael Burns.