It’s the dredging song, the one, pulled, plied from the inner calm
The one that has a subtle hymn-like nature, gutted up, the one that tastes
Of soft silence, a hint of sweet hope but that little edge of wonder unknown
The one, that has sunk deep in the belly of the heart, where all the imaginables hang low, in filigrees of soothing light—basking
I must dredge them up, let them swallow this darkness in thick sips, temperate moans spilling out & eyes
Slowly closing in the after-taste glow of satisfaction
How supple the comfort of horrors, devoured & gone, a warmth on this ever-cold day
The loosed echoes of things past, disappearing off into the murk of time—a wind pulling it all away
I have dredged. With bloodied finger tips, nails broken, pain beyond feeling—until, until
This song came bubbling up, a spring in all this waste—
And I am full. I am calm. I am fine.
I am fine.