The Ecphorizer
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Here in the bone cave Where nothing stirs but blind crickets Moving, sifting darkness Knowing nothing but random scurry. Here deep in the bone cave Tenderly curved into green memory Touching cool opaque walls Remembering water dreaming. Here within the fragile chanter Lives chaos Deep as the secret stream That seeks in the darkness. Here moves the burning coils Of frantic memory and thrust Seeking like the blind cave-cricket Its meaning Direction And destiny. ![]() Maureen Fogard's poem in this issue is from an unpublished collection titled Defining the Silence. More Articles by Maureen Fogard |
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