Lifted at Apollonia
We who grew out of our own shoes
Long before the cobbler wasn’t a part of society, really,
Except for places that never gave up caring for the souls;
But for those who ride the Earth with their memories
Left behind as Ancestor Tracks:
What the Transistor Attracts as
Creatures, we, crudely went wayfaring
Never could be straying, ever staying
Grounded, in a maelstrom;
That old love that grew out of a pale sun.
And why does it cry for the night?
The path holds the walker tight,
The Apolloan caravan descends;
Only to Return, in perfect regularity,
Can we? (-< fiif >-)
Light a candle? (^)
Without Casting a Shadow? (I_~_)
If I am my Silouette, (<o>)
Which hand reaches out first? (io;)
She takes our shadows, like shells on a shaker;
Ties them together
Feeds us the weather
We grow Greater
As givers and under-takers,
Tending the wonder-makers;
She sent us Seeds,
The least we can do is Be.
~Nori Flora, Chicago Feb 2018
