Iron morning, steel gray skies,
crows on the rooftops.
I’m not seeking, only waiting,
pressed under winter’s hand.
I eat and drink with silent armies,
tent fires burning shards of dream.
The care to remember creaks
open and shut like a rusty gate
as ghosts pass to receive forgiveness
from the popes of deception. On and on
lyrics drone with instruments
of mindless youth and bitter age.
In the cacophony a soloist remembers
the resurrection and with plaintive sound
trembles the dark cave, awakening
a starving bear. With low growl I race him
to the door and become the very first
to feast on light.
Reading of “First to Feast” with music by Ben Berkenbosch.