The scent of corrugated cardboard
With a hint of mothballs and Old Spice
Is there a science in mourning,
A philosophy which propounds exotic wisdom
Some tantric revelation leading past the solemn light
Giving definition to the unhewn marble of an afterlife?
The question longs like a lover lost,
Witness to some suspected illusion,
Torpedoed battleships scraping the shoals
Of an imagined reef.
This is a perplexing statuary,
Like modern art all lines and colors, all undefined
The meaning forgotten in the madness
Of a moment’s perturbation.
Can we nudge at emotion,
Til thoughts ring true, until tears
Stream forth like the Nile
In its high season?
I am a wadi awaiting rain,
The carved valley rocks a reminder
Of the torrent, the danger
Waiting to break forth.