7.1.06 Poem by dan hightower

A lengthy refrain echoes in the sublimated shadows of a pre-dawn respite from the post-dawn incursion of memorabilia gliding through the faint fog of shaken self. A frothing pale equestrian rumble creeps up my soul settling just under the dermis and poking at my thoughts like a pestilent worm crawling in me, devouring the life it is sustained by. Could she really have been there? Could I? To what end is this, to what quaking bloody mess will this refrain carry me? I am all points and none in this singularly pristine moment, all hinges on me, the fate of my fate is in my keeping and I am reluctant to move. Hearing about the waddling swaddling babe in the next camp over I stealthily traverse the small green flatness before me to saunter into a menacing stance meant to mimic my serpentine ragamuffins. Spying the window bearing the mark I remember my sun-tzu and mark my path appropriately, condemning the worn one for the one less traveled, making the difference in all and all different than what has been made. Rolling feet make for a quiet entrance to the dilapidated cottage and I slip-slide toward the molten sand hoping for a glance. My menacing stance still underfoot I creep as the pale horse, with anticipatory frothing, leering with peering eyes through the opaqueness before me, searching the webbed quarters for the babe. Still unaware of her purport I nevertheless attend the scene with delicate ferocity, mindful of the state caused by the unsheathed antipathy, the nervous infection of weakness challenged. Hoping no quarrels to arise I find a veranda open and hidden from the encampment, I quell the screaming infarction within me to find a moments peace upon which to lend my motives and incumbent moves. Shrill spiking silence from within, slender forms begin to lethargically search for diuretics and warmth, the camp is stirring and I am without cover. Leaning in the precipice I spy the babe, solemn and radiant in fresh linen, secure and supine in crib, and for a moment I am lost in her, the intrinsic beauty of life beginning, the mute whispers of an all knowing being simply thwarted by glandular development. She knows and I wonder if it was she who called me to awaken without spite or malice after last nights requiem for past transgressions, of both self and others