A Crack in Blackness

The air had a bitter acrid aftertaste,
leavings of a brimming

up beyond and over the horizon darkness;
for it was morning, and the sun –

as sun’s will do, moved up across the sky,
a sailor lost upon the sea;

and we the strangers to this scene
were following bells,

our dogs trailing sounds
farther below into the hollows,

where this cliffscape hideaway,
a place we called our secret

treasure house (but there is no map,
no open path

to this pirate world of magic light;
instead it sits

there in plain sight, waiting for all comers,
those intrepid souls

who’ll discover in this airy crow’s nest
above our valley, a wonder

that few will ever know or behold:
on certain days sun and moon

cross paths upon the horizon;
the white horns enfold

the globe of gold, channeling
a light out of space

that brings such peace upon those
who behold its strangeness

that even now those who know
will not tell); and ancient spells

enclose it in a temple sphere;
and, yet, it too once exposed

to the elements breeds chance
in a thousand realms – visible and invisible

unhinged by time or fate,
where all things living partake

of that ancient rite,
where stars burn bright

and even the whip and crack
open that blackness, where

the steely edge
of being balances dust on light

– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.