Mayans

This house is so quiet I can hear my blood

that washes down through me

I listen to the clockwork gears of myself

humming and clicking and wooshing…

the Mayans believed in many souls but

I never considered myself a lump of meat until now

here I am, breathing and beating,

the body soul content in its coffee

despite the damage wrought by thoughtless age;

My mind soul though is a wanderer

spirals out and down, the world of mist

and the woodwork of memory

its seeking something and hasn’t found it

it reaches for the clouds, it burrows into dirt

it frolics in pastures with the animal heart

it nestles down softly by lovers long gone

it howls and dances and praises the moon

but always is brought back

by the thump and wheeze of the body

washing its blood through me

when I sit and listen

in this empty house, alone.

Reviews

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A piece that dances with delight and never really shows the meaning, well done, good read.

[JR]

Thanks so much! I really appreciate it.