The Gloom

Sitting on a bench,
The figure looked around
And rose upward into airy rooms.

He put his ear to the wall
And listened for a small voice
And heard it.

Maybe, he thinks, there are golden threads left in the gloom
That covers the vault of those transparent dreams.

Quick, catch the shining whisper.

And there in the darkness were the eyes
Of the companion,
Reflecting back something of a return.

The exchange of magic coincidence,
Things that are secret to those
Who swim in the gray waters.

But the time was short
In the coming of the ceremonial turn.

Look away from the golden one for a moment,
And shift again to the gaze
To find a different face.

Into the gloom they go.

10-10-13