The cradle of some other darkness
And the night’s wind
Like wild insects
Filling up the mouth.
If what I feel
Isn’t the vortex of illusions
Then I am finally coming
To what is real.
I am breaking down the barricades
Like a migrant fire,
An erupting grace.
I am holding the volcanic heart
Of all our summers
In the one wild meadow
Of an open palm.
Deer-leap, fog-addled mazes,
The forest in the city’s dreaming.
All these pastiches of a fractured life
Floating down like burning pages.
The Other Darkness by Seth Jani