12gauge.com 2002

WANDERING A DESERT OF NIGHT
Louis Faber

I am an exile from
where? There must be a there
an end to paths I tread
laboriously, over that horizon
or that, eyes forward
steps measured, cast out
struggle to return to a warmth.
It snapped shut, a cervix
denying reentry, now barren.
A path, see yourself
in a labyrinth, touch
the walls, lick blood
sweet and warm from a thorn
eyes forward, following, left
or right, crumbs long expended
eaten by the rat who sees
no maze, just a meal
or the dream of one
studying the sameness
each leaf, each stone
touched, tasted, here
now, there only then, or soon
but never, ever now.

Back to the top or Next

Post your comments to the Poetry Bulletin Board

About Us 9.11.01 Hardcopy Letters Writers Group Links + Staff Legal Statements