Aporia Impasse IV

A Poem

Aporia Impasse IV

Grappling with ghosts in a dark night,
Shattering an urn in the moonlight
Assaying my nerves with a canine howl,
Gazing into the abyss of fright.

Heartstrings plundered of melody’s pathos,
Play not the weepings of ascetic men,
And dullness moves the brethren to sighs;
They the rub the dust into their eyes.

When the finch lands on a wind-tattered branch,
What does it mean?
But that the bird still flies and takes his rest,
And his nest remains to be seen.
But though by flight, he has retained the bird,
And his song remains to be heard.

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