Signs

©  Steve King 2017

All rights reserved

1.

upthrust stones appear in the dark earth

sudden reds and umbers

in the highest trees

rivers yield to bedrock

floral splash retreats

from dry roadsides

sheltering waves ebb

mud creatures die before the sun

mountains whither and recede

while others intrude into empty sky

the earth shakes  and graves unseal

stormclouds gather on far hills

everywhere are signs it seems

the moonlight and the darkness

and the lightning

and the winds that sing

in my dream they heave to view

and in these echoes I must find

the word to say old things anew

2.

searching ancient holds

sifting through the sands

looking for the stars

for the ancient source

rooting for the hidden caves

and the shades of prophets

gone at last to ground

forgotten gone now

far from miracles

and sundry excitations

all are silent now

yes even prophets

silent now who onetime spoke

as from the very gods

3.

and in my books

strange marks appear

to dance the empty page

waiting for that word to come

for surer sense to settle ‘round

the strange newness of them all

a word

a harmony

to all the other words

sung in strange communion

to all that have been spoke to me

and all that I have heard

and all that yet await my meaning

any meaning

the one sound that gathers all

shouts that I may understand

this word that has eluded

the word inscribed alike

on those vagrant sands

and on the far strung stars

a word within surrounding silence

distance and old emptiness

since before the sands were sands

and stars were stars

when sands were stars

and stars sand

before even another sound to echo

before the advent of questions

before any answer

or an explanation

or an equivocation

or assertion

or apology

or a taking back

or a shouting

or a false whisper

or a clamor to end contemplation

or a witness

or even before the idea of silence

which must itself aspire to clamor

or spring from one

if it shall be truly known

4.

this thing I am that waits in dreams

first word

then picture

then story

all the legends to retell

there must be story

must there not

a story in those markings

that my dreaming has begot

5.

awakening as light itself

arising from behind hard horizons

hidden only for the time of dreaming

a sorcery unfolds

and I speak in tongues

the way a ghost

condemned to drift among the quick

might strain for words

walking live streets

but in that long silence

mouthing empty moans

at transient shapes

eager for the night

even as the morning comes

lingering near familiar shadows

come to trim the meaning of their day

6.

as the sun reveals

I would see

as the sun reveals

the ring of dawn embracing

every ready world

rolling like the tides

that would paint a captive sea

revealing all to me

settling ‘round again

to cure the mind of dreams

when all new things may come alive

and spirits teem

new myths to spring

while strains of ancient songs

sweating dreams

and visitations

might soon be well forgot.

An edge of darkness

for a moment that is not a moment

but a life begun

rewound again

and tempering the margins

of each exultation with the breath

of all those old cares

7.

Still the memories of dreams

might reach from their firm seat

might tantalize and so destroy belief

in tangibility to come

the very marks

and strange devices

left upon the page

all the sweet tranquility

that I would have

before another life begins

but still the book

and curious marks

older by another day

unchanged and so familiar

in their unfamiliar way