By David Eide
From a distance it is a blackness
From a distance it is a rock
And here in the non-distance there is
We read everything through a desire,
beauty coaxes a desire,
sirens along the earth shore bring us up
Space, the fierce emptiness we always expected,
Light, a space that burns a hole through the
personable Andes Mountains.
A city, ancient and empty, stands mute
in the crevice of an old hand.
What goes into the center?
There's a little politics, a little love, some
treachery and the mind comes out with something.
A man who talks.
The narrator that is thrown out in desperation;
sent out among a litany of petty heroism/
down to the dark it all makes.