Sunday, February 2, 2025

poem

 Ghosts the Host Has Left Behind 

All my emptiness is gone.

Every last lacuna filled in

No room for anything else 


Without a void nothing new

Is ever possible.

I’m intractable object 


Trapped in its final form.

Only tectonic pressures

Of geological time


Can change me now.

I drift along abyssal plains 

Looking for signs of life.


This is the subduction zone where love 

Collides with ancient basaltic rock 

And raises a coastal range, 


Where ocean crusts dive

Beneath the edge of your continental shelf, 

Deep into the heat of the mantle and melt.


What’s left is solid cold granite 

All the way through.

No room for anything new


All my emptiness is gone.


2/2/25


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