One morning I summoned the giant tome
it arrived by means so magical
I just put my open hand
down on it like a cloud
rests on the roof of a dark museum
full of stone teardrops
so smoothly carved they could not
have come from anywhere
but Obsidian Desert or an island
in the Emerald Sea he alone
by his dual nature could echolocate
in those stones the reflection
of whatever about your shadow nature
you need to discover with unstable
certainty flickers while outside
the wells in the garden
forget dark attachments and remind
each other in the soft afternoon language
you are on an isthmus
like a hero from a novel
you have journeyed there by train
to become contemporary
as rare blue mountain flowers
other bodies are with you too
in a small dark room you are together watching
the same movie about his life
on a loop until the city
full of innovative playgrounds
he never built fills us
and again at last we are each
a child wandering this time happily alone
among the harmless shapes
that know whatever calm people know

Order your copy of Issue No. 108.