The World Made Plain

A child of the late night, she wanders
under the creamy membrane of the moon.

With a gesture purer than language
she records each interval

sound streaming through her veins
the air saturated with light.

In a legendary season
she moves through night’s bowl
listening to whispers of death
and the world made plain:

a fin shearing across black water
the inaccessible stars

horizons outlining the sky
and the easy grace of darkness falling

as the bottom half of the earth
sinks into oblivion.

And within her heart’s deep chamber, she
savors the hours locked away.
where memory is worn down to stone.

Ruth Daigon | Mudlark No. 25
Contents | Fusing Silence