CRAZY OLD MAN
We will not know
how great or small
our gods are
until we have searched
through all the rooms
of this house, uncovering
all the angels and monsters
that live there.
What we are,
in silence,
in the bright darkness
of the eternal starry night.
Whether nothing
or everything,
a spark or a whirlwind
or a bitter flaming tree.
They have left ripples
carved in rock.
They have put up
gateways of stone.
They have veered the hills
around the sunrise.
They have left songs
in the soil
that shepherded
the seeds there.
Dreaming, dreamer, dream:
a dream of awakening
does not bring any
dawn closer.
—
simonhlilly 