I
see your torch has lost its light.
You should have brought more batteries
but it’s all right.
This isn’t my first time.
I have innumerable supplies.
It’s just that none of them will help.
I
never find the right things at the right time.
My candles were once magnificent.
Incandescent conscripts cast
to guide our ships (willing or no).
They really did have soul.
Hot wax dripped like fingertips
down pillars black as coal.
But that was long ago.
Now
I’m relying on body memory.
I’ve been running this maze since
long before the rats sounded last call and
the clocks all killed themselves.
No hemlock left for me.
Stay close.
The staircase can be treacherous,
especially since my molten wax has
long since guttered out.
Laugh if you will, tiny dancer
but I’m as serious as cancer.
The pathway is full of hazards.
Enlightenment is always a moving target.
It’s about to get real.
Fear not. My bat sonar heart
will lead us through the dark.
That’s really the easiest part.
Honestly, what worries me
is where we may end up.
Who will we be?
Will we know ourselves?
Or
will it be like emerging at JFK
disoriented by crowds casting
their blasting shadows.
Rude, abrasive samba of dark and light
looking and hoping for some kind guide
who
will hold up a sign with our name?
Who will our torchbearer be?
Wait
did anyone check if admission is free?
Shit.
Karma’s a bitch and she’s pissed.
We
are going to need some ID.
Leslie Linder
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