By The Goat’s Skull, Near The Scrolls
Sunday again no ants crawling
just stray dogs and a cat on a roof
Each dawn gaze at the horizon
then don’t look on it all day long
It will be determined
stretched tight as a winter rope
Night or day birth or death
numb-dumb of twin nothing at all
A suggestion not a commandment
a caravan determines to keep going
One excavation of the heart
one brown hand for pomegranate
Can the naming of either part
determine the cadenas of a life
An anti-whip prevent a snap
in sand in the vagaries of love?
© 2015 Rob Schackne
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