In rags of daylight

I feel the strength of dead tribes

all alive in me.

The private glory

of the persecuted,

the lovely falls of every

one inevitable and great

thrillingly call out my name.

In the sanctum of the dark,

the shaken snapshot of another hour

passed walking

in long halls of outdoor space,

crucified in unison

with the many thousand things

humming, engines of milk tubes

and massive driveways abandoned

stones that once were marked

and now are worn.