At Hand

Perfect striations of cedar
drifts us out into the night.
Me, nervous and awake with questions.
You, steady and safe.

We have rowed out into a blank sky.
We are alone and my attention on you.

“I’m not asking you to eat what you’ve seen when the sun is high.
This feast shown can only be in the places of deep.
Now do you understand
how something hidden is in plain sight?
No rock will comfort your head.
No blankets form within the grass.
What place will wait with you?
What land will be good to you?
For all produce thorns.
Are you still searching for the temple of forty-six?
Or do you not know that while you may roam a city awaits for you.
Until then, meet me in the house within.”

At Hand


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