I think back to that cleft
In the live rock. A deep voice filled the cave,
Raving up out of cells each time in some way left
Huger and vaguer. There was a kind of nave
Strewn with potsherd and bone.
The tribe’s offspring, converted now, rejoice
In our sane god. But, two or three hours south, not known
To them, the charges of the other’s voice
Break into light and churn
Through evening fields. Soon a first town is lit,
Is lived in. Grounded. Green. A truth fit to unlearn
The blind delirium that still utters it.
Leave a Reply