Songs In The Spirit
©Marlena Tanya Muchnick, 2003
It was the first clear day in June
When I quit the old city
And ran away to the sea,
Seeking to excavate my time remaining
Form the routines and fašades
Of daily course -- mere hollowed out sounds.
I drove time-cracked roads brittle as ancient crockery
Not roads but stratum collaged;
Cement and broken shell
Bits of fossil dredged up from vanished seas
Spread out again like pigment across the crust of lands
What history beneath our feet!
Biblical coelecanths, flat shelled ammonites,
Snails, timeless and snug in golden spirals,
Magical seaworms touched somehow with light
Twisting through mazes of new spawned life
Anonymous to history, blind to their purpose.
Above them, bellowing sea lions,
Prowling mastodons once scavenged
Fish abundant enough to fill every belly that has ever
Why have they gone?
Here now, in scattering foam a found conch, its glistening chambers echo
An infinite catalogue of lost and unnamed images.
Will our races become modern memoriam?
Or, as I perceive within these fragile catacombs,
A promised assurance of another Plan.
Free to choose eternal life,
Saved from another, a mortal