Tuesday, June 16, 2015

squatch thoughts, foreteen

Sun falls, men. Falls beyond trees. Falls to earth there, men, there, beyond them trees. Beyond the dead trees shaped into your houses, beyond your footsteps, the sun edges toward the other side, another earth. The sun’s distance is night’s silence. Speak softly, men. Night is another earth.

Trees gather cold shadows, men, there where you seek me. Every shadow, me—your dream of another earth. Silent footsteps under dark leaves. No noise, men, no city, no war, no dead trees. Your footprints absorbed by the sun’s distant fall. Another earth rises.

distant shadows close

There, you gesture. There, in cold shadow! See him, you holler. Me, you mean. You see me in cold tree shadow, men. Distant like men, far from the warmth of that other earth. Cold men dream of warm earth and find only shadow, only silence. Men call that shadow silence me. Me, men, me! Why? I am not the cold shadow of distant men. I am not men.

Me? I am a warm star, men, shining above trees, above the sun, now, as it falls, drawn by distant gravity to another earth. That silver light in the west, men. Me. I warm the edge of the approaching dark, gentle blue sky to burnt orange to dark purple to the warm, close silence of night. My footprint shines in the sky there, men. There is another earth. Men, tear your eyes from the shadows. Look up, men, to find me. The evening star resists the pull of grave cold shadow. Look up, men, up! Warm yourself to the night of another earth. There, men, there! Look here!

sunfall, evening star