Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
In our aloneness, under vagaries of ouranic suns, briefly offered indigo opportunities, seizing retinal citadels, sighing through mornings of frost and mist, when only the blackbird in his idle time will come and stand in an empty garden with the empty handed, lapsing some quiet moments before a shrouding grey-dusk exhalation,
chthonic washing darkness with ink spills, character streaks revealing the ghost in that empty room we never inhabited but always remember best in odd modulations of winter dreams, where dreaming bulbs will blow, we know or fail in their circuits, as intended.
The old plots are the best: no need to drown us in a vat of Joycest wine or school us through intricacies of classic myths; the cinema's more scholarific far for underworld digestions; but mind will find our daily rind sufficient for the night thereof.
I hear best Buddhists live in minimum of contingent delusions - will bid a ghost sit down and sup as soon as feed a garden bird: the sun's an opportunity for light's mandalas; ouranic and chthonic realms are peasant poppets over hearth.
But then they far more clearly see what forms the ghost beneath the tree, how sorrow can compounded be; that though we search to pin it down, we cannot fathom it's intent, being lost in deeper darkness we have never let relent.
.................
'Ouranic' and 'Chthonic' refers to what the Greeks thought of as the Olympians (the sky pantheon - in this poem instanced by the sun) and the gods of the Underworld - which, psychologically, would be more often labelled in our dreams.
Media is 'Nocturnal' from 'Skyrim' - seems, after all, to be a shady figure with a corvid. ;)
