/ Brushstrokes

A cavern in the campagna

A cavern in the campagna

In this tunnel there is only you,
and your dumb interpreter,
and the pit that yawns below.
Stand at the impossible edge, on stone
that is only stone if you believe it so.
Touch, if you can, the cavern wall.
Look down, look inwards, not behind
to where the cold sky calls.
It would only take you home.

If that shadow on the ceiling
were a spirit moving towards you
to claim and carry you down,
you would not be cowering so.
The only presence here is your own.
You are the mouth of a womb
which is also hell, but no flames burn.
Your dreams are insubstantial.
Tread carefully as you go.

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A cavern in the campagna
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