Of Depth and Field
L. Edgar Otto 07 November, 2013
If my mind is in a
cave and that essential to know
Not concerned with
wall cast shadows
that fade into the
fog as the goodness in the warmth
of my autumn coat
walks with me
My face wet like with
dew, the fallen leaves, slippery,
still, make no sound
by my footprints
The shadows of trees
and artifacts, bridges across
confluences of
rivers, come and go as I turn
or walk, seem to
confine me
Or old houses,
shadows of past times, pine and
hardwood forests long
since removed, replanted
The depth of field a
dome all around me and deep
within that fog as I
recall how my heart changed as well
in isolation,
Kristen, we owned the whole world
Where the fog meets
the walk bridge, you afraid to cross
alone in the light of
day you asked me if the world would end
All soul's day after
whistling in the dark mystery of how
a kettle sings and
boils, Halloween masks and dance-
a real skeleton on a
balcony riding a bike as decoration
A black cat all wet
but razor thin its once plush flesh and
globe of hair facing
the funeral pallor next door
Where I saw my first
dead body with his thousand friends
in line I leaned down
and whispered to him "One day, though it takes ten thousand years...
You are one we will
bring back again..."
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