WITH YOU, MALAKA
With you, Malaka, I am walking the lines
of this underground passage; only awakening
and only emerging as a new light overhead
beckons. We sit in cool chambers to think.
-
Glances at moments too soon let us
notice that that which calls us is nothing
more than uncertainty or possibility -
things to come, not necessarily coming.
I am fueled by the thought of what
comes between us; something like
a man, holding a lantern, in the dark.
-
I peer out, now and then, and return
only disappointed. What do I see?
The bloody calculus of but internment
and war, the twisted lines of conflict,
men with forked tongues, breaking
things before they are even made.
With you, Malaka, I am walking the lines
of this underground passage; only awakening
and only emerging as a new light overhead
beckons. We sit in cool chambers to think.
-
Glances at moments too soon let us
notice that that which calls us is nothing
more than uncertainty or possibility -
things to come, not necessarily coming.
I am fueled by the thought of what
comes between us; something like
a man, holding a lantern, in the dark.
-
I peer out, now and then, and return
only disappointed. What do I see?
The bloody calculus of but internment
and war, the twisted lines of conflict,
men with forked tongues, breaking
things before they are even made.
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