What mystic night knows it reveals to steel
silos buried deep as oil wells. You thought
it only whispered through open air, feel
words that soft couldn’t penetrate far vaults
of ancient rock thick as Alps or Andes,
layered crusts so vast they form a solid
galaxy, crystal patterns like candies
melted and blended in boiling liquid
then hardened in a petrified sea. You
dream of stars blazing, ghost horses trotting
over rainbows, sense yourself falling through
infinite void in panic, then plotting
your course through this frantic ionosphere,
praying you’ll land on some angel’s light tear.
Roger Armbrust
November 2,
2012
