Читать книгу Days and Times - Paul K. Hooker - Страница 8

I seek the shining darkness,

the basement path beneath believing,

the way that knows but is not known.

A voiceless song of echoed longing,

empty skull in an arid vale,

jawbone agape: a windswept moan.

I seek the primordial Before—

before light, or day, or even Word—

region where the Serpent roams,

dragon mother of the deep;

her face the maw of fertile chaos,

her womb is dirt, her breast is bone.

I seek the land of birth and death

from which come both birthing, dying,

to which they go, their labors done,

chthonic realm where little gods

come and go without a sound,

Ultima Thule, wanderer’s home.

I seek the dawn of the second day

not the day of witnessed passion

nor when they found the body gone,

but the last pregnant day of possible,

uterus of a new creation,

cervix of eternal stone.

Deep inside the shining darkness

believing dies and trust, unborn,

unknown and knowing, waits alone.