Image on Pixabay by Waldkunst

Here, There be Two-Faced Jackals

~ a poem of hope for the times ~

Must skies hide?

Against a woolly backdrop

of graveyard grey clouds

— not radiant places, our simple graveyards —

in a geometry known

only to roosting birds of prey,

ravens sat immobile.

They made slits for me

like small stabs of a Kukri knife,

unexpected windows to

black of nothingness.

Defences breached, sky!

I see you.

Ah fickle, like all I love…

Two-faced jackal.

Dazzling it was,

the morning sky

a canvas grounded with liquid lapis

but devoid of enigmas.

Then afternoon glimpses of only black …

Ravens.

In my sleep, that night

my mother,

eyes limned with flame,

cupped her hands

head tilted heavenwards.

In my dream,

pictographs and hieroglyphs