By Robert Kyle
In a land of silence, I sit
Waiting for nothing
Watching the boiling clouds
Sturdy stones
Dissolving into the moor
My Bones, the twisted trees
My beard, a nest of birds
I am but a jumble of memories
Caught loosely in time
Merging with the forever flowing
That connects land to sky
Razor blade edge
Cutting sweet with no pain upon the stone
River rolling
Forest calling
Meeting the man with no name
All life decays
Back to the bones
Back to the earth
Catching time on fingers broken
In the midnight hour the dead wave to the north wind
Leaves flurry through the boneyards
In a land of silence, I sit