My back has been pushed against
the wall of a deep baseline
throbbing from rhythms of a native tong
humming a dead mans song
Whispering voices from smothering chard remains
call out to all dead men
reading psalms taking communion
passing judgment on the shadows of angles
guarding the blackened forest
where the sun secretly meets his mistress of four seasons
the moon eavesdrops on conversations between dusk and dawn
they have been with the same mistress
the morning dew knows everything
her tears are there ever morning
jrg 4-26-08
Copyright © 2009 by Jeff R. Ghee
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