The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

urn at 4 am

it's been raining out
and it's been raining out
in this dark night of prayer wheels
churning for mother and cat and long lost friends
dying pulling the curtain down with them among them
the prayer wheel turning all through the rain
small candle driving it every night a different candle
small candle grieving one night and an other

it's raining out and the wind comes swirling in
the poor tiny flame shakes and shudders
great shadows on the ceiling in this unheard of room
and i face down on the bed and open one eye then an other
there are shapes moving on ruined thinned-out retinas
floaters and animals blindspotting dark unfocused worlds
generated from within memories of sight memories of death and dark candles

in this dark night of prayer wheels and worlds
my writing burns like a flame on the verge
it's twisted around the thing and churning
it says nothing it doesn't know how to speak
i don't know how to speak
and anymore in the rain
in the dark rain
and anymore in the dark dark dark dark rain

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