Cracked Corn.


Cracked Corn.

Cracked corn spills out onto the ground.
	Yellow nuggets made mortal 
		by the crush of a miller’s tool.

This is Scratch - 
	Chicken feed!

	That, and a guarantee that tomorrow’s eggs 
will break to a Golden Dawn!


In attendance.

We are waiting here for twilight.

Treading softly, 
finding seats (and secrets) in silence.

	Hoping for all the world 
that sitting down
	 will not turn the balance of power around.



You think I don’t remember, don’t you?
	Think my mind got full,
That it’s got so full of other things
	that I –

Wait a minute!
	Where’d the Sun go?

Who turned the lights down?
	Down to Dream Time, maybe.

Did we ever make this turn together?
	Go down to the dark road.

I think I been down this road before - 
	Maybe alone,
		maybe with you?

I can’t remember sometimes what it felt like 
when we went down it together.

Did we?

Where will you be when I get there again?
	 Is it darker in my prayers,
 		or in my dreams.

You think I don’t know.
	Can’t tell.
		Can’t see.

Why is it dark now?
	Where’s the sight of you? The very sight of you!
Surely more than in the dark,
	more in memory than in my dreams.

	Sometimes I can’t remember.
Do they bring back to me
	 or only take you away?

Do they truly take the sadness, 
	or only leave it laying in shadows, 
waiting for the moment 
	when I can’t resist digging deeper than I should!


The smile does not know sorrow,
	nor understand its lines.
But a single mind expresses both,
	while sacrificing neither.