Untitled by Alex Thompson


It’s not the greatest time, this moment: “Now”

(It never is).  In meager morning light

A rabbit surges forth and drives a plow

Unearthing dreams in wakeful slumber-sight.

Is all this real?  The dew asleep on leaves

Will soon awaken, painfully aware

That sunlight burns.  No matter who believes

That water droplets cannot feel the glare

Of solar flares, my friend, the sun by noon

Will desiccate the truth relentlessly.

But sunlight cannot say which figures loom

Within our shadows, circling endlessly

Like ancient sacred snakes devouring

Their tails in timeless ever-blossoming.


The tides that rise within our sightless eyes

Are filled with shadows drifting gently up

From atavistic depths.  Who are we?  Rise!

Stand up inside yourself!  Remember us!

The buildings looming distantly will fall.

Our greatest triumphs rise instantly

Then dissipate in endless air like calls

From beaks amidst the shaded mystery

Of redwood groves.  Now look, the trees are brave

In ways unknown to us, I must admit

At least as much as that.  But they behave

According to the Earth, and they submit

to Nature’s laws.  Our human knees will bend

When dead (and only then) my fatal friend.


Hypnotic ~ the din of raindrops ~ Listen.

Fall asleep, but listen:  Hear the laughter

Tumble down the night and soundly christen

Ground.  In brimless sin before and after,

Sopping-wet, bedraggled dreams with lovers

Catch you sleeping ~ waiting, wanting, finding.

Look!  Above the bed, a shadow hovers!

In those spots, the sightless find too blinding

Angels bask, their feather-tipped devotion

Spreading, song-like, out to gather power

Dropped from skyless clouds of spent emotion.

Hanging on to air, we stay and cower.

Wake, my friend, and find your stranger senses

Peering out at life with stranger lenses.