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Hollow
December 14, 2011
Here the sky is azure—
There the sky is gray.
Here the sun is Golden
golden as the day.
Here the flowers wither
There the flowers grow.
Here the sun is hollow
Empty as the sow
That yields no golden flowers:
The furrows always show
The nakedness that clothes them—
The darkness.
The darkness bites my soul
The fullness—hollow—
Hollow as the morning
Rich as summer’s glow.
Forget the biting darkness
Assume no sunrise—still—
Remember in the night
Even the furrows
fill.
© Alex D., Phoenix, AZ
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