malediction VI

malediction VI

the air is spare and harsh, here in my crypt,
where I have slipped to contemplate fate.
cubes of bone and stones that bruise heels
and crack the wooden wheels of the explorers,
lost and tossed and crossed by the stars.
picking the seeds from the unripe fruit
in hopes that it will grow in soil unspoiled
by the incantata'd prayers of lesser things
that made winters of springs as time unwound.
soundless, groundless pain like ebon sparks
in a dark and hungry shadowdance.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.