Todd Sanders
cyclops
I stir with the wind. Chase lightning with my hands. The air, haunted
with ghosts who go hurrying on around me, I am solace only when in
forests. There I know only the embrace of branches. The whisper of
bark against my mouth. I bury my dead now behind a whisper and though
your soul resides in the left of my eyes I bleed still the scent of
language. All I am, I leave, for I would be done with it again this
last time. You are no one.
shores of lethe
When before the seven houses we were forgotten in the journey. When
yet still there was a night that had no day claimed its own. Then
always each of us was married to an angel tied upon our backs. You
carried giants in that place. You told the earth its name. You held
me against what I lacked. And I. For my part. I led the way.
dyson
I understand now. Those stars, they are forever. We are made of their
dust. We dance beneath their light until we return that dust back
again. But light remains, speeding through time and space, faster
than anything known. Those fathers of light, turning slowly through
universes, they live among all this motion. Their weight causes
orbits to turn. Causes gravity to make clocks lie to us. And if they
do die one day, so many years from us that we no longer can count
them, then they can condemn, if they choose to, their sons and
daughters to be swallowed away within themselves. What sins must
light have committed to be eaten by those fathers who thought
themselves so brilliant.
Copyright (c) 2004 by Todd Sanders