They call to me — the voices — from their dark

cajoling — persuading

screaming sometimes

sometimes in rage

There is a childlike voice

that sings — In foreign tongue

and I

feel wistful for the dark of earth

the coolness of the under moss

Like prayer mist rises

toward the alchemy of gold

as sun is pulled to earth

and trees reach up for darkness

slowly — as it gathers round the stars  

It is intense for me — intense

to be left — so long with voices

                               drowning

as night sounds of the earth

                                release

the dark scent of cicadas

                                  keeps me sane

                                              and yet

and yet I am worn down

as I am quite alone — one of a kind

The gods did leave us long ago

All other creatures roam

                the wide world’s freedoms flow

like birds — I long to see them fly

free from confines of the box

They are only voices after all

to keep them captive is a crime — perhaps — perhaps

An open heart is better than one closed

An open box is better than the shadow that it throws