Lance Sheridan

The world is slow, turning through time.
Moonlight- luminous worm
Emptied into a distance,
Night sky empties its darkness
Into a you or me; a red sleep, I do not believe it.

The day is so poor suddenly,
Bare trees, a face, a mouth: black fingers in dirt
Ordering a growth in a cold earth;
The moles roar in my ears-
Echoes, echoes, am I a pulse?

I remember the minute, the wind was chilling
My face with its terrible look,
Coming at me with a meaning,
I saw the world in it- mean and dark,
Regarded me with attention.

And I said something, so dark suddenly,
Is this death coming at me?
It glided by- I felt the world in it,
I wasn’t ready for it. I had no reverence.
It touched me like a child carrying emptiness.

I have had my chances, all stitched into me
Like a…

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