by Ayo Ayoola

A dewdrop against the unseen rock is a sacred dust.

Where the clouds roar above a sunken ship

in mid sea or among the waves of the distant shore.

A wreck marks the end deep and dark,

woven of the warp and wail of mystery.

The eye of the soul is a narrow vale

between the cold and barren peaks of all dewdrops.

The voiceless lip speaks.

The moon fled like a scared bird,

The world ran like the wind,

The stars walked away

while the earth kept yawning.

 How deep the earth inhabits us?

She pulls her flock into the sky.

They passed to silence. A pathetic dust,  a sacred dust.

The voiceless lip speaks.

Time became nothing

 she was the center of all.

We can hear the rustle of her wings.

©ayo ayoola-amale  2015

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