“The lone and level sands stretch far away.” Shelley.
Ah… And there it is, my friend— “A disembodied thought,”
Found, we’re told, under a soldier’s boot,
Though some have said it is not a thinkingness
But a yearning for the life that held it.
And there, just there, a bit of quartz
As white as cataracts
As final rays of sunlight, once
Caught and held— As black clouds
Boil across an afternoon sky
Eclipse the sun and day falls into night.
Or so the lone survivor told.
But she was blind, it’s said.
She lived another day or two
The legend goes, to say who won.
We walk. We part from pasts and where
All pasts must dwell. Many cannot speak—
Others reach with open arms
Toward the voices of Allah, of Yahweh,
Of L. Ron Hubbard, of others.
And having listened and to our own thoughts
And having prayed our own prayers
Rejoined our own lives,
Today, we are returned.