Untitled

Am I a harp that the
hands of this man may
touch me?
Or a flute
that his breathe may pass
through me?
to command that perfect note...
A seeker of silences I am;
what treasures
have I found in the silence?
If this is the day
of harvest,
in what forgotten field
have I sowed the seed
and in what
unremembered season?
If this indeed be the hour
in which
I lift up my lantern,
is it not the flame that
burns within?
Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern
and the guardian of my nights
shall fill it with oil.
And he shall set flame to light it.